


Trope Tastic

by Daryl_Alenko



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Everyone secretly wants Stiles, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, For real guys, Kissing Booths, M/M, Misunderstandings, Scott and Stiles are NOT together, Stiles-centric, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: Stiles is 'enjoying' his Freshman year. He's the lowest rank on the totem pole, but Danny smiled at him, Lydia actually deigned to acknowledge his existence, and he and Scott are close as ever!But then, the strangest thing happens. Hotshot junior Derek Hale begins to follow him around, and even when Stiles tries to escape him, he's -always there-.





	Trope Tastic

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just had oral surgery. It is -not- fun! The pain mixed with meds and inability to sleep because of pain has done me in. I decided to try and distract myself by writing this. It probably won't be up to par with most of my stuff, and will seem a little out of character for my writing. See the above mention of meds, pain, and sleeplessness. But, hope everyone enjoys it!
> 
> I don't hate Scott, even if it might seem like it in this. Some of his behavior just irked me a little bit, and his being a brat to Stiles makes it easier for him to turn to Derek.
> 
> Lydia however, I have absolutely -no- like for. So, this is not for staunch Lydia fans. She comes across as an uber bitch in this.
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, so this is a little twist on a few tropes that I've been reading a lot of lately.
> 
> 1) The Kissing Booth: Only this time, it's Derek in the booth, and Stiles as the potential customer. 
> 
> 2) Secret Crush: This time, it's Derek that has had a crush on Stiles forever. However, rather than one of those where Stiles is always crushing right back, he has no clue who Derek is. 
> 
> 3) Stiles chases Derek: Again, the exact opposite! Since Stiles doesn't know Derek, Derek is the one running after Stiles.
> 
> 4) Stiles is a better friend than Scott: This seems to be a reaccuring theme/trope, and I decided to change it just slightly. Scott is a bit sulky, but at the same time, he does all of the faux-flirting and friendly silliness that Stiles does, too.
> 
> Hopefully, this is crack and fluff without -too- much angst, but we'll just have to wait and see. Because much like Stiles' definition of lying, I'm pretty sure my definition of angst is different from everyone elses. ;)
> 
> Werewolves are still real, the entire Hale family is alive, Scott was never bitten.

* * *

Freshman year. Of course, he'd heard all of the horror stories. Every junior high student hears them, after all. Gotta scare the fresh meat early enough that they stew in their fear. Apparently, it makes it all the better for the future tormentors. Sadistic bastards! At least, that's what Stiles always secretly called them in the back of his mind. Even he wasn't stupid enough to let that particular thought through the minimal brain-to-mouth filter he possesses. 

Anyway, he heard stories of swirlies, wedgies, and the ever classic shoving into lockers that the 'more mature' Juniors and Seniors had a habit of perpetrating against the poor Freshmen. There was a single moment, on his first day of classes, when he thought that all of those nightmare scenarios were well on their way to coming true. Some big brute of a Junior had descended on him and Scott. Placed a massive paw on either of thier chests and slammed their backs into the lockers. Unfortunately, and Stiles is pretty sure on accident, the lock of a locker had jammed into his back and left an ugly black bruise. He had winced at the time, but managed not to scream or squeak, not to give away the pain he was in. 

The older boy had done nothing else. Just shoved them, glared, and then walked off. That, however, was the -only- incident that he had faced! Scott had mentioned two Seniors threatening to swirlie him if he didn't get out of their way in the lunch line, and said that another Junior had called him a few harsh names for no apparent reason. But strangely, no further occurrences had happened to Stiles.

Now, three months into the school year, and even Scott hasn't been harassed anymore. They've both stood back and watched as their fellow Freshmen were threatened, talked down to, and occasionally manhandled, but they seem to have somehow scored a free pass. Honestly, Stiles isn't questioning this fact in the -least-. No, he's just enjoying his utter sense of anonymity --

"Hello, Stiles!" The warm, sunny voice of Danny Mahealani pulls Stiles from his thoughts. He closes his locker door and turns, smiling at the Hawaiian boy. His poor heart nearly stops when Danny flashes his megawatt, award winning dimples at him. He can feel his cheeks heat and his mouth fall open as the other boy walks past him toward class. 

"He .. did he just .. he actually .... oh my god. SCOTT!" He hollers his best friend's name and is not in the least bit surprised when the other teen seems to materialize out of nowhere. His eyes are wide and slightly frightened, as if he's expecting to see Stiles in some kind of horrible situation. To be fair, this is not an unfair assumption, as it's happened several times before. But no, this is by far the exact freakin' opposite and Stiles cannot wait to share it with his Brother From Another Mother. "Come on, Scott, wipe that look of fear off your face. Everything is totally fine. Nay, it is -better- than fine, my man!" Stiles is beaming. He can feel the ache in his cheeks that indicates he has one of his near manic smiles on, but he can do nothing to wipe it away. In fact, it may very well be a cute if not slightly creepy addition to his anatomy for the remainder of the day.

"So .. the world isn't ending? Nothing improbable is about to happen??"

"Aww, look at you, dude! You used a big word, correctly, too. I'm so proud of you, Boo!" He launches himself at his best friend, pulling him into a bit of a bone crushing hug that is partly to mess with the other teen, and partly because he's just so damn happy at the moment! Scott squeaks and immediately starts trying to pry Stiles off.

"No. Stop! Bad, Stiles .. bad! Remember the rumors!? Are you -trying- to make worse ones? Get off me!" He's whining by the end, Stiles cackling madly before he pulls back with a wounded expression on his face. 

"Scott ... SCOTTY .... don't you LOVE me anymore!?" He wails the words, tears brimming in his eyes as he stares his friend down. Scott jerks a little where he stands before he frantically looks around as students stop to stare at Stiles' antics.

"Stop it, Stiles! Just stop! Yes, I love you okay, but -stop- or we are no longer anything!" He hisses and moans the words as softly as he can while still being sure his melodramatic best friend will hear them. Stiles sniffles loud and wet, and reaches up to rub the back of his hand across his cheek. Scattering his tears.

"But .. but .. you'll always love me, Scotty. You have to!" He sniffles loudly again and Scott throws his arms up in the air.

"Fine! Yes! I will -always- love you, Stiles Stilinski, now stop this!" It takes a moment for the poor teen to realize he screamed that at the top of his lungs nearly. It takes even longer for him to realize that the hallway has gone entirely too quiet. Stiles blinks languidly, his cheeks lighting up maroon when he realizes he -definitely- took this too far. However, the look of mortification on his best friend's face when Scott snaps his hands over his mouth, is too priceless. Or the fact that he's blushing brighter than an atomic explosion. 

Scott lets out a sound that can only be described as a puppy whimper before he turns tail and runs as far and as fast away from Stiles as he can. Stiles himself collapses against his locker for a moment, still doubled over with laughter. Yes, the rumor mill will now be going insane pumping out wild stories that will also make him the butt of the joke, but so what? Totally worth it! 

And then he remembers why he summoned Scott in the first place and he takes off down the hall after his best friend. 

"Scott! Scott, wait, we still have to talk! I have to tell you about Danny! Hey ... hey! Stop running away from me you idiot!" He huffs and puffs as he chases after him. 

Of course, the fact that he's so preoccupied running after Scott means that he misses two very obvious events behind him.

First, money changes hands between over half of those in the hallway as some long established bet is finally won. And a pair of daisy yellow eyes glow faintly in the shadows before a fist connects angrily with the metal of a locker, bending it in savagely.

* * *

Stiles sets his lunch tray down before collapsing into his seat. He had finally managed to catch his friend, and Scott had slapped on one of his bright, shining smiles and congratulated him on getting Danny to smile at him finally. He will forever state that he has the very best friend/brother in all of existence. Scott had simply laughed and said no duh when Stiles confided in him that he liked both genders. It was that simple. Duh, he knew, now lets go to the movies already! So, to hear that one of Stiles crushes had finally acknowledged him had made Scott as happy as if his own crush had done the same. 

The rest of the day, however, had not gone so smoothly. When they went to their lockers between their next class, Scott's was smashed open. It looked like someone had tried to kick it in or something. Which is absurd, because that would have to be one hell of a karate high kick. Then, when Stiles went into his science class, Mr. Harris had immediately singled him out and started to belittle and verbally bully him. After that, everything had seemed to go downhill. 

He huffs and reaches out to open his bottle of water, taking a sip as he stares morosely down at his disgusting school lunch. Some dark brown and beige hunk of stuff that he thinks is meatloaf paired with runny powdered mash and what he -thinks- is supposed to be beans of some sort. His stomach gives a nervous flutter and he pushes the tray away with a sigh. 

"Stilinski." The silken sweet voice of one Strawberry Blond Goddess takes him by surprise. She's standing across from him, one hand clutching her purse, the other clutching a small brown paper bag. 

"I .. uh .. Hi, Lydia." He stammers through his words, his mouth hanging open slightly. She stares at him indifferently for a moment, before plastering on one of her fake 'of course I like you' smiles. 

"You made me a lot of money today, Stiles. So, I am rewarding you. I figure, it works for Prada." She drops the bag in front of him, waves her digits in a snobby way and then about faces and heads toward the popular table where her, Danny, and Jackson are allowed to sit with the popular Jocks from 11th and 12th grade. As he watches her walk to the table and settle between Danny and Jackson, he notices one of the Juniors staring at him with an unreadable but intense look. When the junior turns to out and out -glare- at Lydia, Stiles sinks lower in his seat and grabs the bag. He opens it and lets out a squeak that he can't even -begin- to call manly as he drags out a large cardboard container of perfectly golden crisp, seasoned curly fries. See!! Lydia Martin is a freakin' Goddess!!

"Bless the ground that strawberry goddess walks on, man." He murmurs before he takes a handful of the greasy goodness and shoves it into his mouth. He can feel his cheeks fill and puff out, but he doesn't care. He makes a rather undignified moan as he begins to chew, his eyes screwing closed in pure bliss as he enjoys them.

"Dude .. why is Derek Hale looking at you like that!?" Scott tries to stage whisper, drawing Stiles out of his food induced happiness. He blinks several times to focus, looking toward his friend, who has settled next to him. 

"Why is who doing what, now?" He questions around his mouthful of food before swallowing and swigging some of his water. Scott's gaze snaps back toward his best friend, mouth hanging open in complete confusion. And a little bit of pity.

".. what even goes -on- in that brain of yours, Stiles!?" He huffs and snaps his fork down, into his mystery meat. "Derek Hale .. literally the most popular kid in school, despite only being a Junior. He's the star of the basketball team, could easily be the Captain of the lacrosse team, and is basically the guy that every guy wants to be and every girl wants to sleep with." Stiles blinks again .. and then snorts. And shakes his head for good measure.

"Apparently every guy but one. I've never heard of him, I don't care who is popular and who isn't, because that would mean giving a damn about Jackson and the day that happens, is the day I get down on one knee and ask Danny to marry me. And when he says -no-, I will get down on one knee and beg Lydia to marry me. And when -SHE- says no ... well, I'll probably ask you. Sorry, Boo, but you're totally third on my list." Scott looks truly mortified, and Stiles can only cackle. Though he finds himself absolutely curious; is Scott upset because Stiles would ask him, or because he's all the way down at number three? It really could go either way with him.

"Stiles --" Scott's eyes have gone wide, and he begins to frantically grab at Stiles' arm, but he keeps shaking him off in favor of grabbing for his fries. 

"Anyway. I don't care about basketball, either, or hell, even Lacrosse. I mean, I know you want to play and I will totally support you and even make a complete -ass- of myself and tryout with you, Scott. But anyway. Let whoever stare. I don't care!" He shovels the last bits of golden fried deliciousness into his mouth just as Scott finally manages to grab his arm and haul him up enough that he can see Derek's stormy features as he jerks up from his seat and stomps off, out of the cafeteria. Looking so pissed Stiles suddenly fears. A lot.

"... most popular, you said?" He whispers the words hoarsely once he has managed to swallow the last of his curly fries. He barely sees Scott nodding mutely from the edge of his vision. Stiles shudders and turns to look his friend head on. "From the deepest chambers of my heart, I gotta say, it's been great being best friends with you, Scott. I'm going to miss you when I'm gone." He lifts a hand, jabs a finger in the direction Derek stormed off in. "Cause I'm pretty sure that if he doesn't kill me, all his little sycophants will." He turns and reaches out to hug his best friend. "So remember; find someone that can help you study. I know, I know, you tend to base your friendships on awesome, sarcastic people like me that make your life both hard and interesting at the same time, but try to switch it up a little bit, okay?" 

Usually, at this point, Scott would roll his eyes and push him away. Instead, he tightens his arms around him and hugs him close for a moment. 

"Stiles, there would be no friends after you, dude. You're my bestie always, even if Derek Hale's lackeys kill you. I will totally avenge you and everything, kay?" Stiles chokes on his laughter, squeezing his best friend before letting go.

"God, you are -awesome-, Scotty. Totes best, Boo. Really." Scott pats him affectionately before he goes back to his mystery meat.

"So, where did you get the curly fries?" Stiles brightens instantly. Practically beams like a high powered flashlight at his friend.

"Dude! You will -never- believe me, but my gorgeous goddess Lydia Martin gave them to me. She said something about me making her a lot of money and rewarding me like Prada. It's great!" Scott blanches and coughs before he clears his throat.

"Oh. I guess she's one of those that were betting ..." When Stiles gives him a questioning glance, he sighs deeply and glares down at his food. "Uh, half the damn school had a bet going on, about when we'd finally admit we were a couple. Your little scene in the hallway apparently confirmed something or other. I'm gonna be alone forever because of you, Stiles ... or at least until Derek kills you. Hey! There's an upside to you dying, sweet!" 

"Thanks, man, really. I can feel the love, dude. I'm so glad my pending doom is such a happy moment for you." He grumbles and grouses before he stands up. His gaze happens to move toward the popular table and he can feel himself blush when Danny waves to him. He gives a bit of a shy wave back, before he turns to Scott and laughs. "Dude! With the way things are going today, it would be freakin' hilarious if it turned out he was just jealous or something." He winks at his best friend before he turns to head toward the trash bins. 

"Oh! I gotta grab food for Dad after school, so I won't have time to hang out. See you later, man." He waves at Scott before he turns and heads out of the cafeteria, practically humming to himself after Danny's wave. Yup, he feels like he's walking on sunshine right about now! That feeling lasts all of the nine minutes it takes him to get to the lockers in school. He draws up short a few lockers from Danny's when he sees that it's smashed in, the same as Scott's had been. 

"The hell?!" He shakes his head vaguely and heads toward his own locker. Despite the few wonderful moments, the majority of the day has been an annoyance to the teen.

* * *

The rest of Stiles' school day is pretty nondescript. He goes to his last few classes and then heads to the locker rooms with Scott to stare at the sign-up sheet for lacrosse. He is in no way surprised to see Jackson Whittemore and Danny Mahealani at the very top of the list. Stiles has had the dubious 'honor' of getting beaten in every athletic situation possible by Jackson. Danny usually did his best to curb his best friend's rude, and sometimes physical forms of gloating, but it didn't always work. He is -not- looking forward to being made the team punching bag by the douchenozzle, but whatever. This is for Scott. This is for his brother. He will do the best he can to be supportive of him. He reads down the list, eyes narrowing when he sees Derek Hale's name. He rolls his eyes, and after a moment, dutifully signs his name beneath that of his best buddy. 

"I hope you know we're both going to be riding the bench, Scott. We are in for a lot of long, hard practices with no pay off, because we'll be stuck on the sidelines." He reaches out to clap his friend on the shoulder, trying to ignore his pout.

"Have hope, Stiles. We'll do good!" Yeah, he'll let his bestie live in the illusion .... for now. 

"Sure, sure, buddy. Anyway, I gotta get going. I'll see you later." Stiles heads toward the parking lot, eyes squinting as he looks for his baby. He has a very unique distinction among Freshmen; he has a vehicle he can legally drive, despite having just turned 15. With no bus that runs close enough to his house, and his Dad almost always working at the Station, he qualified for a Junior Permit in California. Which means he gets to drive when almost everyone else can't! Yet another thing that singles him out as odd rather than cool. If it were Danny or Lydia with a Junior Permit, they'd be even cooler in the eyes of their peers. Stiles is just more of an oddball for it. Oh joy.

* * *

Once out of the school parking lot, he breathes a little easier, though he's not sure why. Something about this day has been so strange that it's screwing with his mind. He can't seem to centre himself the way he usually can. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he makes his way through town. He hadn't been lying when he told Scott that he needed to pick up something for supper, but he had an errand to run before that.

He wheels the jeep into a parking spot at Yesteryear, a local antique shop. He and his Mom used to come here once a month, to see if they had acquired anything interesting and different. Stiles still comes here every once and a while. Today, though, he's here for a reason. He leaps out of the jeep and hip checks his door closed before he heads for the large glass door. As he shoves it open, the soft, musical tinkle of a bell over the door makes him stop and look up. He grins at the antique before he heads toward the counter.

"I don't understand. My Uncle said that you would have the book waiting when I came in. If you don't believe me, call him!" Stiles draws up short when he hears an annoyed voice coming from in front of the counter. He cants his head, eyes narrowed when Maxine, owner of the store, huffs a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Derek, but Peter told you wrong, son." Stiles eyes widen when he realizes that it must be the junior Scott had pointed out earlier. He's not sure what he should do! Turn and slip out before Derek can see him, slink off to look at a display and wait for him to leave, or stand his ground. "See, I -told- him that I would be getting a copy of it in, but that it wasn't for general sale. It's a personal request! The only way he would get it, is if the original sale fell through. And seeing as the original buyer -just- walked in, I don't think the sale will be falling through. So ... I apologize that you had to come all the way down here, but Peter misunderstood me. Again. Your Uncle seems to do that a lot, actually." And now he has no choice but to stand his ground, because Derek whirls around to glare at him. 

".. -you're- the buyer? Seriously!?" Stiles shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking from Maxine to the stormy features of Derek Hale. Suddenly, he has a feeling his death-by-Hale theory may be more than just theory. He swallows heavily, and then schools his features to look braver than he feels. He pushes himself to his full height and glares at the older teen.

"Yeah, I am, got a problem with that, Hale?"

"What would you even want with a Medieval Bestiary, Stilinski?" Derek's voice is challenging and annoyed and Stiles is already 100% done with this conversation. "Do you read Archaic Latin? Huh? Why would you even care about a bunch of lore about mythological creatures? You can't have a single good reason for not letting my Uncle buy this book!" Stiles' eyes widen and then narrow dangerously. His lips peel back in a bit of a snarl and he reaches out to shove Derek at the shoulders.

"Screw you, buddy. -YES-, I -can- read Archaic Latin. In fact, I started teaching myself -right- after my Mom died. Helped cut down on the freakin' panic attacks." Derek flinches, his mouth dropping open in surprise. However, before he can say anything, Stiles shoves him again. "I have an -interest- because my Mom studied it, and I started studying it with her when I was young. This is the last book she was looking for before she died. Maxine was -just- able to find it, so yeah, I have a pretty damn good reason for -not- letting your Uncle have it, Hale." He takes several steps back from the other teen, reaching up to rub his palm down his face before he turns to Maxine. "I'm sure you don't hear this very often, but NO. Just .. just go away." He sniffles discreetly and reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet. 

"Here you go, sugar." Maxine murmurs, handing him the cloth wrapped book as he pays. When he turns back around, Derek is still standing there. Staring wide eyed at him, mouth agape.

"I .. sorry, Stiles. I didn't ... I shouldn't've said ... I'm sorry." The older teen deflates slightly and turns, scurrying out of the store, leaving Stiles to feel like a bit of an idiot for shoving him. He's not one to lose his temper often, but when he does? Well, it could've been way worse. 

"It's gonna be alright, sugar. That one .. he has the same temper you do, but it's all show. Same as you. Go'n now." He smiles faintly at the woman before he turns and exits the store. He makes his way out to his jeep, yanking his keys out. As he starts to shove the key into the lock, a hand squeezes his shoulder and he yelps. He turns and strikes out with the keys shoved between his knuckles. A move his Dad had taught him.

Derek's standing there, fingers clenched around Stiles' wrist, barely managing to catch the offending appendage before taking a face full of keys.

"Jesus, Stiles! Nice reflexes and all, but what the hell!?" 

"EXCUSE me!?" Stiles grumbles, angrily snatching his wrist back from Derek before he turns to jam his key into the lock. "You're the one that snuck up and grabbed me. You're lucky a key punch is all you almost got, dude." He yanks his door open and turns to look at the wide eyed Derek, who is scowling at him.

"Whatever. And don't call me -dude-, Stiles." The older boy huffs angrily and is now looking anywhere but at him. Stiles can feel his anger heating and he slams his door shut and whirls to face Derek full on again.

"What the -hell- is your damage, Hale!? -I'm- not the one that grabbed -you- out of nowhere. What do you even -want-!?" He throws his arms up in agitation when all Derek does is stare blankly at him for a few moments. "Whelp. This has been tons of fun, my man, but I'm out. I have to get home before Dad." Just as he's yanking the car door open again, Derek grabs his wrist. Again. Stiles wishes he were strong and fast enough to actually land a punch on the older boy. If he did, however, he'd just feel bad about it afterward.

"Damn it, Stiles .. I'm not .. I .. I didn't .... god!" Derek snarls and lets him go, taking a step closer. Stiles steps backward, yelping when he connects with the edge of the open door. Derek reaches out toward him, but freezes without touching. Instead, he draws on that same scowl, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm not trying to scare you or intimidate you or mess with you or anything Stiles! Damn it, I just wanted to .. apologize. For being an ass. In the store. You're signed up for lacrosse this year, right?" 

Stiles blinks. His mouth opens and closes half a dozen times, a fish out of water gulp before he shakes himself slightly.

"Okay .... who the hell taught you what a segue is?? Because that invasive question about my personal business came straight out of left field."

"I said lacrosse, not baseball." Derek deadpans and Stiles startles. Before managing a little bit of a smile. "And it's sure as hell not -personal business- when you signed a very -public- piece of paper, Stilinski." The older boy's snark should probably put Stiles on edge, but it doesn't. It -really- doesn't. Instead, the deadpan humor and the snark relax him so much. He leans comfortably back against his open door. 

"Well, if it was so public, then why do you have to -ask-, Hale? Yes ... I'm signed up for lacrosse, because Scott wants to play so damn bad. I ... he's my best friend, I love him, but he's really stupid if he thinks either of us are going to make first line." He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. Watches with muted confusion as Derek's features darken for a moment. He looks pissed and stormy for a few seconds before he schools his features into a mask of indifference. 

"Scott definitely won't make first line. If you'd concentrate a little, you'd do a lot better. Let me make up for my bad attitude earlier .. I'll coach you in lacrosse. We have a couple weeks to see if you improve any." Again, Stiles gapes and stares at the older teen. A supposed sports God, at least according to Scott, is offering to coach him?? He licks his dry bottom lip, his eyes too distant to see the way that Derek seems to stare for a moment before shaking his head to clear it. 

"Uhm ... okay? I mean ... yeah, sure. Why not? Thanks." Derek blinks, his eyes widen in surprise, and then his sour features light up with a gleaming smile.

"Sweet. We'll start tomorrow after school. See ya, Stilinski." Stiles remains standing there for nearly five minutes after Derek is gone before he just shrugs his shoulders in a whatever gesture and heads to grab supper.

* * *

Stiles has his head stuck in his locker humming to himself as he looks for something. He had spent most of the day avoiding any thoughts that didn't pertain to whatever class he was in. It partially worked. He will never be able to keep his mind from wandering fully, even when he's taking his meds, but he can at least try and block off certain thoughts. Case in point: he has practice after school with none other than Derek freakin' Hale .. and he -really- doesn't want to go. For a surfeit of reasons, actually. Top of the list; the guy is an asshole with a hair-trigger temper that Stiles is not anxious to risk encountering when the guy has access to sports equipment and an excuse to tackle him. Because his life is full of enough self-inflicted bruises courtesy of a clumsy nature, without giving a jock license to inflict more. 

"Stilinski!" Speaking of! Jackson Whittemore's harsh, pulsating voice causes the teen to jump and jerk. The back of his head collides with the top of his locker and he swears under his breath before he manages to pull himself up straight and turn in just enough time to feel Jackson's arm brush his cheek as he reaches around him to slam his locker shut. And then shoves Stiles' back against it. By some miracle, he swallows down a scream of pain as his back collides with the handle of the locker. He's going to have another painful, mottled bruise there. 

"What the hell is your problem!?" Stiles' mouth runs away with him. His filter fizzles and dies a valiant death as he allows his anger to get the better of him. "That's assault, asshole!" Rather than pull away, let go, or any other rational reaction, Jackson rolls his eyes and leans into him. Pain blossoms further across Stiles' back, his honey brown eyes snapping closed so tight that he feels dizzy in the resulting darkness. 

"Sure, but good luck proving it, Stilinski." The sneer is evident even with his eyes closed and for the first time in his life, he really, **-really-** wants to hurt Jackson. Not just hurt him, though. No, he wants to ruin him. Mess up his pretty, smug face so that he can understand what it's like to be brought right back down to Earth with the rest of them.

"Wh-what .. do you ... want?" He wheezes through the blinding pain, momentarily wondering if this is what Scott's asthma feels like. As if every breath is burning an acidic path from lungs to lips. For a split second, he feels Jackson let up. There is a distinct lack of leaning into his tortured body, but within the next breath, the pressure is back. Worse, even, as Jackson pins him.

"Whatever the hell you're trying to pull ... whatever plan you have, just -stop-, Stilinski. You are a **loser**. You will **_always_** be a loser! No amount of coaching in lacrosse or getting curly fries from Lydia is going to change that! Hell, even the faux-gay thing is out played. This bullshit you and Scott are trying to pull makes you seem desperate, not cool. So, just stop trying to pretend that you belong on the same echelon as someone like Derek Hale. If you know what's good for you .. you will -not- show up to his little practice session after school. Clear?"

Stiles wheezes again, fails to suck in a breath as he tries to stare the bastard down. 

"Crystal freakin' clear, asshole." He hisses the words out between clenched teeth, Jackson smirking as he pulls away from him.

"Good. Now run along, Stilinski." He reaches out to smooth Stiles' shirt hem and then turns away. Strolling down the hall like he owns the place. Stiles carefully pulls away from his locker. The first flex of muscle across his back nearly sends him crashing to his knees. He struggles to keep himself upright before he turns and trudges toward his next class, fully prepared to be late.

* * *

Stiles levels a baleful glance at the cafeteria entrance, biting at his bottom lip as he struggles with his decision. He knows that he should just go inside. Forget the fact that Jackson and Derek may both be glaring at him, that Lydia and Danny have probably forgotten his very existence again, or that Scott will be eating alone if he doesn't show. But is he -really- ready to do that? Hasn't his day already been bad enough that he should have the right to skip this painful possibility?

"Stiles!" Scott's too chipper voice cuts right through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. He jerks a little, pulling himself to attention in just enough time to feel Scott lay a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, you're standing in everyone's way. Lets go." Before he has time to protest, he is being dragged through to the cafeteria. He wants to say something, anything, tell Scott that this is a bad idea, but he can't find the words.

He loses himself in his thoughts again, so unfocused that he cannot remember going through the line and grabbing food. He comes back to himself just as he's setting his tray down on their usual table and folding himself tiredly into his chair. Making damn sure that his back doesn't brush the plastic.

"Stiles!" He jumps and jerks, can feel the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes when the movement sends his back against the seat.

"What, Scott!? God!" Scott's eyes widen, filling with confusion and pain when his friend hollers at him. Usually, Stiles would feel bad. He would backtrack, apologize, do whatever it took to take the kicked puppy expression off his best friend's face. 

"S-sorry. Just. You haven't been talking, and I'm worried, man." His voice has slipped into a demure softness, and Stiles winces a little.

"Yeah, sorry man, just .. it's been a long day, Scott." He forces himself to smile for the other teen, before he glances down at what he had gotten to eat. And immediately feels his stomach turn a little. It looks like a slightly slimy version of taco salad, and he just sighs and shoves the tray away. 

"It's all good, Stiles. I get it." Scott flashes his eye narrowing smile and grabs up a fork to start eating.

"That looks nasty." The sudden addition of a new voice causes Scott to drop his fork and Stiles to jump in surprise again. His back wrenches once more and he quickly drops his face onto the table top to hide the look of pain.

"Probably tastes as nasty as it looks, Hale." Stiles words are momentarily muffled before he sits up straight, rubbing over his closed eyes before he looks up where the older teen is standing. "What's up?" He's doing his best to try and ignore the gobsmacked look Scott is sporting at the moment.

"Making sure we're still on for after school." Oh god, he can feel Scott's wide, surprised stare boring into the side of his head. He can also feel the anger pointed at him from Jackson and he really just wants to curl up and cry now. Thanks. 

"Yeah." He has no clue where the bravery comes from, because he had every intention of saying no. Of just slinking back home and forgetting that he has lacrosse practice, that the most popular kid in school wants to coach him for whatever reason. "Yeah, we're still on, Derek." He turns to look back at his abandoned tray, and blinks in surprise when a bag is dropped in front of him by the older teen.

"Cool. See you then, Stilinski." With that, Derek turns and heads back toward his usual table, sliding into his usual seat. Stiles winces when he sees the pissed glance Jackson is giving him, before he turns to look at his friend. Who looks red faced, surprised, and more than a little angry.

"So. When you said you had no clue who Derek Hale was yesterday .. you were what? Lying? Pretending? FAKING?! Because -that- .. that is -not- not knowing someone, Stiles. That is -you- getting lunch from Derek Hale right after agreeing to spend -time- with him!" Stiles glares down at the paper bag, trying to remind himself that he and Scott are brothers. That they are the best of friends and nothing should ever change that. 

"That's a double negative." The words are out before he has time to think about them, and he grimaces. He doesn't have to look at Scott to know that he will be wearing a wounded expression. But this time ... damn it, this time, he just doesn't care. "But, even more important ... screw you, Scotty. I -didn't- know Derek Hale before yesterday. Hell, I -STILL- don't know him. Not really. Some stuff happened, but .. well, it really doesn't matter now, does it? Because I'm going to grab my lunch and get the hell out of here before I say something I might really regret." He snatches up the paper bag and his tray, stomping away. Because he knows that he could do it. That he could murder their friendship with just a few words. It would be simple. And that frightens him.

He puts his tray away before he leaves the cafeteria, hands clutching the bag that Derek had left him.

* * *

"What the hell is your problem, Stilinski?" Derek's voice feels like a slap to the face as Stiles trudges quietly out, onto the lacrosse field. He drops his bag and gear at his feet, before he turns his tired eyes on the other teen, a quizzical brow raised. Derek's scowl deepens for a moment. "You didn't eat lunch, you left out of there in a hurry, and you barely talked all afternoon. What gives already?" He huffs out his question as he begins to unpack his own gear.

"... what the ever lovin' hell??" Stiles bristles, his lips flattening into a line of anger as he attempts to stare a hole through Derek. Or, at least, that's what it feels like to the other teen. "Are you, like, -stalking- me or something!? God, I didn't even know who you -were- until Scott told me, and you know what I've been doing all day!?" Stiles fights down a need to shiver, or maybe shudder, biting at the inside of his cheek as he tries to rein in his sudden swell of temper.

"I --"

"No! Just no, Hale! We're here to practice. Nothing more, nothing less." He yanks up his lacrosse stick and turns to look around the field for a moment. Anything is better than looking at the miniature Greek god. He misses the wounded, angry look on Derek's face before the athletic boy manages to school his features.

"Right. Get your ass in the goal. You're too spastic for the field. The goal gives you something to concentrate on so that your mind doesn't wander. Like it does every other moment." He sneers at Stiles, doing everything in his power to cover up how insecure and pained he's feeling at the moment. Stiles huffs, pulls on his pads and helmet and takes up his position in the goal.

After fifteen minutes, Stiles is practically vibrating out of his skin. He's managed to block all but five of Derek's shots, and those had all been to the bottom left of the net.

"See! You concentrate so much better in the net, Stilinski. If we can brush up on the bottom left side, you'll be a shoe-in for first line. Danny is good, but not that good." Stiles' eyes widen and he feels a muscle jump under his eye. Feels his jaw quiver a little as he clenches it.

"Wait, what!? -Danny- is trying out for goalie? Dude, there's no way I can beat Danny out for that!" He whines a little, yanking his helmet off and rushing out of the goal. Derek rolls his eyes as he absently tosses the ball up and catches it, over and over.

"Are you -deaf-, Stilinski? I -just- told you that you have Danny -beat-. You're better than him at this." He gives an epic eye roll that comes across as annoyed and faintly amused to Stiles, though Derek hadn't meant to display fondness in the action.

"What? No. That's not -- I didn't mean -- damn it." He snarls the words, eyes narrowing in suspicion when Derek's eyes widen at the sound. He looks as if he has to struggle to swallow for a second, but Stiles puts it out of his mind. "I mean, if Danny's trying out for goalie, I -can't-. I won't do that to him. He's better than me, Derek. He deserves it." Stiles is fierce in his determination, and Derek seems to deflate for a moment. Lost in thought. His eyes even seem to go unfocused for a moment before he gives a minute shake of his head and returns to himself. 

"Stiles ... Danny is good, yes. He's athletic, for sure. He is -not- better than you, not in any way. I never want to hear that crap from you again." What. On God's. Green. Earth. Stiles looks lost and confused, and why not? Derek is chastising him for, what, not believing in himself enough!? This has sailed right past surreal and into some as of yet unlabeled territory. He sucks in a breath, face contorting sourly for a moment.

"That .. it's none of your business what crap I do or don't say, Hale. Let's just finish this." He narrows his eyes, waving his stick. When Derek passes him the ball, he's a little surprised when he manages to catch it effortlessly. He's -never- done that before. When Derek charges at him, Stiles yelps and manages to dodge out of the way. By some miracle, he doesn't trip over his own feet, tangle himself up. Derek actually cheers.

"Nice dodge, Stilinski." Stiles whoops and is about to throw the ball back, when Derek smirks and takes the time to tackle him. Stiles lands on his back, just right (or wrong), and the bruise there draws a keening wail of pain from him as Derek lands on top of him.

"Stiles!" He snarls the name, wrenching his helmet off desperately as he tries to look the teen over. The stark scent of pain, fear, and salt water nearly sends the teen into a frenzied state. "W-what did I -- I didn't ---" Derek makes a soft sort of whining sound in the back of his throat that throws Stiles for a bit of a loop. However, he's a little too busy trying to parse the almost urgent concern that the teen is showing toward him. He's basically a stranger at this point, but he's reacting as if Stiles is the most important thing in his life and has just been hurt. It confuses him.

"Y-you .. didn't ... D-D-Derek." He chuffs the words, eyes closing tight for a moment as he struggles to draw in a deep breath without causing the searing pain again. Derek whines a second time as he carefully hovers over Stiles. After a moment of hesitation, his nostrils flare .. and then his eyes narrow dangerously. The whine becomes a rather impressive growl of anger as he grabs Stiles at the hips and flips him onto his stomach. "D-Derek!! The -hell-, dude!?" 

"Sorry .. sorry! I just .. I gotta ..." Derek is growling again, from deep in his chest and Stiles isn't sure if he should submit to whatever the hell is happening, or scream BAD TOUCH when he feels the hem of his shirt being worked up, over his back. He smacks his forehead against the ground, whining in pain when the shirt catches on the bruise. "What. The. Fuck!" Derek's growl has become a near feral snarl, and Stiles feels himself reacting on instinct. He tries to pull away, shifting just enough that he can tuck his knees against his stomach and make himself smaller. "Who the hell did this, Stiles?" There's something dangerous and scary lurking in Derek's voice and he would never want to admit it, but he's feeling suddenly and overwhelming protective. Not of Jackson ... because he'd just as soon tell Derek the truth and let him beat the ever loving hell out of the bastard for doing this to him. No, he feels fiercely and wholly protective of DEREK. Because he has a feeling the fool would end up regretting whatever he did to Jackson for hurting him.

"It doesn't .. doesn't matter, Derek. It's done. Just ... god, get off me, already." He hisses the words, and pain be damned, he begins to wriggle and writhe, trying to get Derek to let him go. To move away. Instead, he feels a hand clamp down on his cloth covered hip at the same time fingers gingerly press against the heart of the bruise. He sucks in a breath that sounds dangerously close to a sob, and then blinks in surprise as the pain seems to .. lessen. Okay, that has to be a burst of adrenaline or something, because there's no way that pain just goes away like that.

"Please. Stiles." The words are stilted, forced. As if Derek is having to shove them out of his clenched jaws. "Who did this? Just tell me, so that I -- I can --" His words abort on a single breath, and Stiles kinda wants to laugh hysterically.

"Exactly, man. I'm not going to tell you just so you can go all neanderthal on someone. You don't even have a reason to care, dude. It was an accident, it's over with. It's done." Derek finally manages to gain his feet, and Stiles yelps in surprise when he's carefully yanked to his own. He draws his shirt back down, smoothing the edge of it.

".. it was't .. your Dad .. was it?" Okay, he's not a moron or anything. He -knows- why Derek is asking. On some level, he is aware that it is a logical question! He knows that a lot of people are aware of the trouble his Dad had after his Mom died. Of the excess drink and long, strenuous hours at the station. It would be easy to make the assumption that his Dad may have gotten a little heavy handed. Especially when Stiles is acting so cagey about it. But the larger portion of his brain is all HELL to the NAH with that! In fact, he turns in a flash, rears back, and punches Derek square in the jaw. No, Stiles isn't bulging with muscle or anything, but he's not exactly a beanpole, either. He has compact muscle, a little more than the average teen his age, anyway. So, he expects Derek to fall down with all the weight and emotion behind the hit. Instead, Stiles yelps in pain and drags his busted knuckles back. He barely has the satisfaction of watching Derek stumble a few steps.

"ARGH!!" Stiles screams out in pain, but is still hard pressed not to throw another punch for the words. "My Dad would -never- hit me, you bastard, and don't you -ever- ask that shit again. Damn it." He whimpers and whines as he clutches his tingling hand to his chest. Derek stumbles forward, nearly falls all over himself and nearly trips into Stiles as he reaches for his hand. "Seriously!? You didn't even -bruise- or something? What the hell, man? Are you carved from -GRANITE-!?" He huffs and puffs his indignation, Derek managing a weak laugh.

"I'm not a statue, Stiles."

"Says you, dude. You look sculpted." Derek rolls his eyes, choking on a faint laugh as he studies Stiles' hand for a moment.

"At least it isn't broken. We can still practice." Stiles eyes rise from his hand and his mouth drops open. As he stares. At the moron that thinks he wants to continue -practicing- after this. 

".. -that- is what you get from all of this? Seriously!? Why would I want to -- wow. That .. feels a lot better. What did you do!?" For one moment, he thinks he sees a grimace of pain on Derek's features before he looks down at the red, swollen shape of his hand. It's not broken, he would know. But it also doesn't feel as painful and misshapen as it had moments ago. Derek heaves a bit of a breathless chuckle and shakes his head. 

"I didn't do anything, Stiles. I'm not a healer." He pulls back almost reluctantly, taking several steps back. Putting some much needed space between them. (In Stiles' opinion, at least. Because his heart is beginning to flutter strangely and his mouth has gone dry and if this were Lydia or Danny, he'd know -exactly- why it's happening. But it isn't. So it can't be the same.) "When you get home, put some ice on it, then wrap it with an ace bandage and keep it elevated. Ibuprofen for the pain and swelling." Derek ticks this all off in his emotionless tone, and Stiles can't help but laugh. 

"Derek .. this is not the first or last time Imma hurt myself like this, man. I know what to do." He bites at his bottom lip for a moment, and finally, offers a bit of a reluctant smile. "But thanks. For wanting to help and every thing." He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, and for a second, it looks like Derek is going to reach out toward him. Instead, he turns and heads for his things.

"So. What are you doing tomorrow after school?"

"Uh .." Again, the segue seems a little out of left field. How does Derek's mind operate? But then, honestly, what does he know about normal minds, right? He wrinkles his nose and grabs up his things, slinging his bag over his shoulder with his good hand. "Tomorrow? I don't have any plans that I know of. Scott cancelled on me and Dad is working a late shift, so I'll probably catch up on homework." It sort of settles in his gut, the knowledge that Jackson was right. He's a total loser! He's utterly pathetic. His entire life revolves around two things; Scott's availability, and his Dad's work schedule. He drops his head and turns, prepared to head out of here. Get as far away from Mr. Popular as he can be.

"Stiles, wait! There's a reason I asked." Derek skids to a halt next to him, reaching out on impulse to thread his arm around Stiles' shoulder. "I was gonna -- whoa! Scott -cancelled- on you? What a freakin' potato." He huffs the words under his breath, though Stiles catches them anyway. Again with the what the hell?? Why does Derek seem personally insulted that Scott cancelled on someone he doesn't even know? It doesn't make a lick of sense. And where in the world did that saying even come from? A lick of sense. What do the two even have in common!? Oh right, he researched that once! It has something to do with a lick being such a small amount. He shakes his head to clear it, coming back to the moment. "-- ace. So, what do you say?"

"Oh, uh, sure, man. That's fine." He mumbles the words, not even sure what he has agreed to. Whatever it is, it makes Derek light up. He gives a beaming, heart-stopping smile to Stiles and he has no idea what to do with it. Well, beyond covet it. Because yeah, he does. Instantly. He wants to see that smile all the freakin' time, but **only** if it's directed at him and if **HE** is the reason for it. He licks at his bottom lip, glancing down momentarily. "Just, uh .. here." They stop in front of Stiles' jeep and he opens it, putting his bag on the seat. He pulls out his phone and hands it to the teen. "Text me to remind me or something." He mumbles, waiting patiently. He puts his number into Derek's phone before he shoves his bag over and gets in the car. 

"See ya, Stiles." Derek gives a bit of a shy wave before he turns and takes off for his own vehicle.

* * *

"Yo, Stiles!" Stiles looks up from the homework he has spread out in front of him on the picnic table. He made sure to specifically skip the cafeteria today, so that he can get a head start on his homework. He has yet to hear from Derek, which is still so freakin' surreal, he just doesn't know how to act about it. He glances up from his notebook, leveling Scott with a silent stare for a moment. Before he goes back to work. As far as he's concerned, they still aren't talking. Hence his skipping lunch and taking time -out here-. But, apparently, Scott doesn't understand. He thinks a single day is more than enough time for Stiles to get over it. "Stiles! What are you doing out here? I've been waiting by the cafeteria for you." He doesn't bother looking up, writing something down instead. 

"Whelp, I thought that would've been a big enough hint, Scotty. I'm busy." He pops the P on whelp, leaning a little closer to the notebook to try and re-read something he had written. 

"Since when are you too busy for me?" The kicked puppy look returns. Stiles knows that to be true, even if he isn't looking at his friend and can't actually see the expression. It's Scott's go-to secret weapon whenever he wants Stiles to forgive him without having to say anything. "Whatever. Anyway, I need a ride to your place. We can pick up pizza on the way and I have the games in my backpack." Scott flops onto the bench across from Stiles and it takes every thing in him not to blow his top. Not to scream and holler at his friend. As much as he loves Scott like a brother, sometimes he feels really underappreciated. 

"Uhm .. what? I don't even understand you right now, Scott." He huffs and slams his notebook closed. He carefully begins to stuff his books and notes back into his pack. 

"What do you mean? You know -exactly- what I'm talking about, Stiles!" He looks up in just enough time to see Scott pouting, and oh, part of him wants to reach out and slap the pout off his face! But, his hand is still hurting. "We're hanging out tonight. Pizza, soda, and games? Remember?" And .. that does it. Stiles sucks in a breath, prepared to launch an epic Bitch rant!

"Sorry, McCall, but Stiles has other plans tonight." Derek drops down onto the bench next to Stiles, smirking smugly at the younger teen across from them. "You skipped lunch." Derek accuses a moment before he snags a Tupperware container from his backpack and holds it out. Stiles blinks, but takes it, prying the lid off just as his stomach grumbles protest. "Seriously, Stilinski. Why do you keep not eating?" The accusation is pretty blunt by now, but Stiles -really- isn't paying attention. Because he can smell Italian sausage, cheese, tomato sauce and garlic .. his mouth starts watering.

"Oh. My! GOD!" He barely refrains from just diving into the lasagna, gratefully snagging the fork Derek holds out to cut a piece of the food and take a careful bite. Some rather undignified sound escapes as he chews, and Derek seems to visibly preen. "I'll totally marry whatever member of your family made this, dude. Like, I will sign a marriage contract and the second I turn 18, I'm there!" He shovels more in his face, missing the way that Derek nearly flails right off of the bench. He manages to regain his balance quickly, red all the way to the tips of his ears. 

"Uhm .. what the fuck, Stiles!?" Scott's disbelieving tone reminds him that he and Derek aren't alone. It's his turn to flail, as he usually does. He accidentally elbows Derek, hissing in pain as it jolts the bruise on his back. 

"Stiles." Derek growls, his hand flashing out to grasp his elbow. He can feel the faint reduction of pain across his body, and he breathes a little easier. 

"What does he mean you have plans with -him-, Stiles? **-WE-** are supposed to hang out! What the hell, man?" And .. that does it. Again. He stands abruptly, setting the tupperware down so that he can snag his pack onto his shoulder.

"No, we -don't-, Scott! Even if we didn't get in a fight yesterday, you -cancelled- our plans for tonight two days ago, remember? You came right up to my locker, said that you had other plans, wouldn't tell me what they were, and then walked away. So you know what? Bite me, buddy. Derek and I have plans. Get over it." He turns to look at Derek, who looks somewhat smug as he climbs to his feet and prepares to follow, even without being invited. But then, he hadn't been invited to sit there in the first place, so whatever.

".. Stiles! You .. why do you keep doing this?! First you say you don't know who he is, then I hear that you have plans with him, twice now! Jackson said he's even coaching you in lacrosse! I thought you -hated- the sport? What happened to you were only joining for me?" He's whining now, and he must realize it. Because he suddenly tries to smile, big and dimpled, and tries to make a joke. "What happened to you'd always love me, Stiles?" And no. Just no. Stiles looks stricken for all of three seconds before he gives Scott a vicious, mean little smile. 

"Well, since I don't want you to be -alone forever- because of me .." He shrugs his shoulder vaguely and grabs the tupperware, turning to walk away. Derek looks between the two of them for a moment, a pinched look on his face before he rushes after Stiles.

"Uhm .. did you two just break up, Stiles?" Derek's voice is a little hoarse and .. odd. There's some emotion in it that Stiles can't parse, but whatever it is, it makes him feel sorta hot and tingly all over.

"Yeah. I guess we did." He snorts at the dark amusement he feels at the moment. No, he and Scott were never 'together' and never would be. That would just be too damn weird. But, in a way, they had spent almost every second together since becoming friends, so it feels true. He blinks back a few tears.

"I .. I'm so sorry, Stiles. I didn't mean to -- it wasn't supposed to ---" Derek makes a distressed whine sound, and Stiles finds himself stilling. He turns slowly to face the older teen, looking confused for a second.

"Uhm .. there's nothing for you to be sorry for, Derek. I mean .. it's not like you started paying attention to the school loser just to mess up my friendship with Scott. This .. has been a long time coming, man. We just .. sometimes, we aren't good for each other." He shrugs his shoulders helplessly again, sighing. "And it's not always his fault. I'm terrible for him, too. I get him in so much trouble and ... whatever. It'll be okay." He tries to smile, but it comes out as a tragic, half thing that probably makes him look more like a mad imp than anything. Derek reaches out, gently squeezes his arm before he offers an encouraging smile.

"Well, if things were really that bad between you two ... then, well, I guess I don't feel half as guilty. I mean .. that probably didn't come out right. Know what I mean?" Stiles' smile becomes real and substantial this time. Not watery or fake, just open and honest. He turns enough that he can nudge his shoulder against the older, taller boy's.

"Yeah, I know what you mean, man." Only, he totally doesn't. Because Derek thinks he just caused Stiles and his **boyfriend** to break up spectacularly. He doesn't realize that it's just two friends having a bit of a spat. The guilt is real, though he's trying so hard not to, well, be hard on himself.

"If, uh .. if you don't feel up to going tonight, now, we don't have to." Derek murmurs softly once they have pulled apart and started walking again. "I'm sure the last thing you want to do is sit in a crowded restaurant and try to make small talk or something." Stiles can feel the heat burning up the curve of his pale throat and onto his cheeks. So! -THAT- is what he agreed to do!? Well, could be worse, he supposes. 

"I .. well, I guess we could still go." He shifts uncomfortably, struggling to ignore the little voice at the back of his mind that suggests this sounds an awful lot like a DATE or some equivalent. But nah. The most popular, best looking guy in school doesn't just ask the spastic loser out. This isn't a movie or a teen drama series!

"Nah." Derek forces a smile, feeling his heart sink a little. It sorta sucks being the bigger man, damn it! He starts to turn away, but he just can't let it go! He lights up and turns back toward Stiles. "Or! We could do what you two were going to. Pizza and games sounds good." He cannot hide the raw hope in his voice or in his eyes. Stiles pulls his attention back toward the junior and feels his blush darken and grow warmer. He clears his throat, drops his gaze for a moment.

"Uh. Y-yeah .. yeah, sure. I'd like that, Derek." His grin becomes shy and sheepish as he looks up, through the webbing of his lashes. He has no idea just how coy the look is, but Derek does. God help him, he does. He swallows down a whimper and just nods his head a little dumbly. "So, my place at 4:30? I'll text you the address." He hands the now empty, closed tupperware over before he heads toward class. He misses the rather dorky fist pump Derek breaks out with before he turns and hurries for class, too.

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski is squinting down at the manila file folder he has been pouring over for three straight days. It seems to grow in small increments every time he looks at it. Or maybe, that is just the exhaustion of having to deal with something that is quickly developing into a cold case that is trying to taunt him. He reaches up, rubs both hands down his face and huffs an annoyed breath. He starts to reach for something that isn't there and has to stop himself from completing the motion. The last thing he really wants to do is be reminded of the mistakes he made shortly after Claudia died. 

The sound of the front door being shoved open almost violently jars him from his thoughts and he cannot help the smile that ghosts across his features. He knows that to most residents of Beacon Hills, his hyperactive kid is an acquired taste, but not him. No, to him, Stiles is a brilliant young man with one hell of a future stretching out before him.

"Hey, kiddo." He calls out to the streak of flannel and denim that sails past the kitchen entrance, headed for the stairs leading to his room. Stiles draws up short and about faces, immediately moving toward the sound of his Dad's voice.

"Hey, Dad." He flops gracelessly onto a chair across from the Sheriff, fingers of one hand idly drumming against the table top. 

"Have a good day?" When Stiles nods, the Sheriff tries not to find it disconcerting. That single question should've opened the floodgates for every minute detail of the teen's school day, but barely gets a rise out of him. When Stiles also fails to comment on or reach for the case file, he finds himself having to battle down a wave of panic. "What's up, son?" He drawls the question out slowly, carefully, bracing himself for what may come.

Stiles looks up sharply from the table, brows knitting together for a moment. Again, there seems even more reason for panic when he realizes that his son hasn't actually said anything. This is a moment where words should've come spilling out in some staccato stumble of hard to follow frenzy. Instead, he seems to be -considering- what he should say and that's almost pod person territory for the rambling teen. A sudden unclogging of his brain-to-mouth-filter is probably a sign of the coming apocalypse or some such.

"Uhm ..." The nearly numb sound has the Sheriff sitting up straighter. He quickly tucks every thing back into the folder and sets it to the side as he waits for the teen to continue. When he doesn't, he wants to curse when he once again catches himself reaching for a bottle that isn't there. 

"You're starting to scare me, kiddo. Talk to me. Do I need to call in? I can get Deputy Malone to take over for me tonight." The teen's eyes widen and his lips pinch together slightly. The Sheriff finds himself wanting to reach up and smack himself for being so foolish. Yes, Stiles had been in a less than stellar mood, but now, he can practically see the waves of guilt leaking off of him and he feels so damn horrible for causing that. For putting his poor kid in a position to feel even more negative than he already does.

"What? No, Dad. No! There's absolutely no reason for that, believe me." Stiles huffs and sinks down in his chair. After a little hesitation, he wraps his arms around his stomach and it looks so much like a self-hug that the Sheriff wonders where he went wrong. Not for the first time, he thinks he has screwed up so badly that Claudia should've been the one to raise the teen. "It's stupid and so teenage cliche that I totally have to hate myself a little for it." Stiles somehow manages to summon up a crooked half smile that is so very convincing it throws his Dad for a loop. Because he knows it's fake. He knows his son well enough to know that, but it would fool anyone else on the planet and that hurts for reasons he's too emotionally exhausted to analyze.

"There's no reason to hate yourself, Stiles. Out with it, already."

"Ugh. Fine!" He adds as much drama and snark into the two words as his teenage soul can muster and that brings a little bit of a smile to his Dad's face. "... Scott and I are -really- not doing well right now. Like .. I may block him on my phone." The Sheriff's eyes widen impossibly and his mouth falls slack. Those are not words he -ever- expected to hear his son speak. Not for -anything- and there are a hell of a lot of things he knows the kid would like to compensate for.

"Seriously? You'd block him?"

"Yeah .. yeah, I would. That's how bad this is, Dad." 

"Wow. I mean ... just wow. I honestly never thought I'd see the day you and Scott called it quits, Stiles." He exhales slow and steady, shaking his head a little before he props himself up by his elbows on the table. 

"I know. I didn't either, but .. things change. I mean --" Both of them jerk in surprise, turning their heads when they hear the sound of their doorbell.

".. I thought you two aren't talking? Unless he came to apologize?" Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up and he clears his throat nervously.

"Yeah .. that's not Scott, Dad. We're .. through." He wants to tack on a for now, but he honestly doesn't know if he can just yet. He quickly climbs to his feet and rushes toward the door as the bell goes off again. "Hey, man." He offers a bit of a shy but small smile and has to fight down a blush when Derek practically beams at him.

"Hope it's okay I'm a little early." Derek shifts his weight from foot to foot, his book bag strap twisted in his hands. Stiles can only smile, stepping aside to usher him in.

"It's totally cool, Derek. You're saving me from awkward parental conversation. I owe you big time." He closes the door and turns, leading Derek into the kitchen. "Dad, this is --"

"Derek Hale." The Sheriff stands, holding a hand out. Derek quickly shoves his bag strap onto his shoulder so that he can shake the man's hand. "I hear you're a shoe-in for lacrosse team captain this year." Derek quickly ducks his head, cheeks flushing with heat as he shrugs one of his shoulders.

"Yeah, so people keep telling me." He glances at Stiles, who is grinning shyly. "Though, I think by next year, Stiles could probably give me a run for my money." Derek is a little surprised when -both- Stilinski men snort at that prospect. A look of disbelief is quickly chased by one of anger and sadness across Derek's features. "I'm not joking, sir. I can pretty much guarantee Stiles will make first line after practicing with him. He's killer in the goal." By this point, Stiles has lifted both hands to cover his blushing cheeks and Derek is preening a little bit. Because he can feel the heat from here, can smell the soft, sweet hints of honeysuckle and bursts of vermilion cinnamon. 

"Oh, uh .. wow." The Sheriff turns to grin faintly at his son. "It'll be interesting to see how that goes. Well, it was nice meeting you, Derek, but it's time for me to head into work. Stiles, try and behave yourself. Have a good evening." He smiles to both teens before he walks over to grab the file folder and head toward the door.

"Dude ... why did you have to go and say something like that?!" Stiles hisses just as the Sheriff reaches the door and he hesitates before heading outside. "There's a -chance- I will make first line, but you just made it sound like a sure thing, Hale! And we -both- know that with that asshat Jackson on the team, I'd -never- have a chance at Team Captain. Ever. Just ..." 

"You are guaranteed to make first line, Stiles. I would bet anything on that. As for Team Captain ... by next year, that just may be a possibility." The Sheriff winces, holds in a sigh and quietly slips out of the house silently vowing that he will do better. Take fewer shifts, -be here- for his son.

* * *

Two pizza boxes, a styrofoam container of wings, and two empty 2 liter soda bottles are spread out across the coffee table in front of them. They're sitting shoulder to shoulder, despite the size of the sofa, knees knocking as they play.

"Dude! You just let that freakin' Psycho blow me up!" Stiles growls as he glares at the older teen, who just smirks. 

"Duh! You were about to steal my chest, Stiles. I took out all of those Psychos, and even a damn Bruiser to get that!" Derek sticks his tongue out at Stiles as his Hunter quickly grabs the four guns in the chest. He squints at the screen for a moment, before dropping something. "Here. Your Siren can use this better than my Hunter." Stiles picks up the caustic pistol and actually whoops at the top of his lungs.

"Dude, thanks!" Stiles knocks his shoulder against Derek's, the older teen fighting a blush and losing. 

"Whatever. Just hurry up." Derek rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, causing Stiles to smirk. Okay, so he had been a little reticent at the thought of hanging out with the popular jock, but so far, it's proven fun. The back and forth snarky banter, the teasing over food, the goodnatured ribbing over the game ... if Stiles were to be truthful, he'd have to admit that this has been more fun than he's had with Scott in a while. That breaks his poor heart a little bit.

"Cool your jets, Hale. Perfection cannot be hurried." He tosses an over exaggerated wink at the other teen, who rolls his eyes and blushes just a little bit.

"If that's the case, Stilinski, you'd be well through by now." Stiles' mouth falls open in surprise before he tosses his head back and laughs.

"Ohh, who woulda thought you have jokes, Hale!" He snickers mockingly sweet before he leans back on the couch. "Dude, Nine-Toes will still be there. It's not like he'll run away or something." He yelps in somewhat pleased surprise when Derek reaches out and smacks him lightly on the back of the head.

"Har-har, Stilinski." The teens dissolve into a playful back and forth line of insults as they play, losing track of time.

"Damn it! Not cool, man!" Stiles hisses, throwing his controller to the floor and crossing his arms in front of himself as he glares daggers at Derek. Who just smirks and finishes taking the next round of loot. Again. 

"Oh come on, Stiles! It's just a bit of loot. What's a few grenade mods between friends, right?" He actually tries to apply puppy eyes, and it causes Stiles to laugh. Because really? 

"First off, cut the puppy eyes. Scott has been using puppy eyes on me since we were -four-, I am -immune- to that kind of thing." The mention of Scott causes Derek to close off a bit. He shoves his controller to the table, shifting a little further away from the other teen. "Second off, you -keep- taking all the loot, assbutt!" Stiles huffs a breath, shoving himself off the couch as he begins to grab up the trash. "Thirdly, who said we were friends?" He tosses the last comment breezily over his shoulder before he heads into the kitchen to throw everything away. 

"This time, just don't steal all the --" His words cut off forcefully, his brows drawing together when he steps into the living room and realizes that Derek isn't there anymore. Just -gone-! A quick glance shows that the game has been shut off and his backpack is gone. Stiles scowls angrily, feeling a bit torn. He kinda wants to rage and scream, kick the coffee table. He also kinda wants to curl up somewhere and cry. Because he doesn't understand. Yeah, he'd had a playful little tantrum, but they had been doing good. Had been having fun with their bantering and bickering, and now he's just -gone-!? What had he done wrong?

He tosses himself onto the couch, shifting until he is laying on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest. There's probably a dozen different things he could be doing, beyond moping, but he can't think of a single one at this moment. He tucks his chin against the couch cushion and releases a pent up breath.

* * *

Stiles allows his anger to simmer. To sizzle, fizzle, and reform hour after hour, until he is a frenzied ball of wrath. As he throws his jeep into park, he huffs and exits the vehicle. One could almost see the waves of angsty anger rolling off the teen as he shoves one of the doors open and slips into the building. He is on the war path. There is a warrior roaring in his chest, unfurling sharp talons that he really wants to rake down the far too perfect face of one Derek Hale. 

He wrenches his locker open, cursing aggressively as he begins to yank and wrestle his books around.

" -- I don't think that's even worthy of a correct response, Whittemore." And speak of the Devil! Stiles battles down a sudden, overwhelming growl that is building at the back of his throat. He spins on his heel, elbow crashing into his locker to forcefully close it. The loud bang draws the attention of Jackson, Danny, and Derek. Danny smiles sweetly, but for once, Stiles has no eyes for his cute dimples. Jackson sneers, that usual veneer of better-than-you shining through his pompous features. Derek, though. There's something dark and almost wildly mean in his eyes.

"Hale. You complete and utter jackhole!" Stiles snarls the words, and Derek's eyes widen for a single moment in surprise before he levels out into some strangely unemotional state that just further angers Stiles.

"Erm .. what's a jackhole?" Danny interjects the question, and Stiles still cannot bring himself to look at the handsome teen. Though he also can't bring himself to miss such a perfect set up, either.

"It's an asshole that is miraculously bigger than Jackson. Think that fits Hale just right." The insult is perfect and seamless, startling an amused laugh from Danny and twin glares from the other two. "What the hell is your problem, Derek? You just .. left." He hisses the word left, struggling not to give away too much. Trying not to let on to the fact that walking into that empty living room had hurt so much. 

"Oh, you are -dead-, Stilinski!" Jackson nearly screams the words, rushing forward to grab Stiles. The teen knows what's coming, of course. He still has the bruise on the middle of his back. However, before the jock can propel him into the lockers, Derek has grabbed a fistful of Jackson's shirt and yanked him backward.

"Back off, Whittemore. It really isn't worth it." Derek turns away from the irate jock to sneer coldly at the younger teen. "As for you .. what the hell are you even -talking- about, kid? We're not friends." There's a certain bitter triumph in Derek's voice when Stiles flinches at the words, and probably would've been a sense of victory if Stiles had not jerked backward, as if physically assaulted by the words. 

"Right. Right, of course. What could I have -possibly- been thinking? In what world would we be friends? I mean, it's not as if you even get my -sense of humor- or anything." Stiles feels ... really pathetic, stuck trying to explain to Derek without coming straight out and saying it, that the crack had been a damn -joke-. But, maybe it's better this way? It certainly makes more sense, right? Whatever had happened, whatever misconception had felt like the skin of friendship was just wolf in sheep's clothing. He takes several steps away from the small group, turning to head toward class.

"I, uh .. I should go find Scott. It's probably high time we made up." He pulls the strap of his backpack so hard against his shoulder he can already feel the forming bruise. Flees the scene and nearly misses the look of momentarily unbridled pain on Derek's features.

"Damn it, Stiles, wait. What happened to not good for each other!?" The jock howls those words moments before Stiles is out of range and Jackson barely has time to duck before Derek's fist is connecting with the nearest locker. Denting the slightly beat up metal.

"What is -up- with you, Hale!? First you give that skeevy little freak lacrosse lessons and now, what, you've been -hanging out with him-? There are probably more entertaining ways to commit social suicide than by befriending the second biggest loser in -all- of Beacon Hills." Derek can feel himself getting ready to snap. Ready to throttle the narcissistic prick, but he never gets the chance.

"God, just shut -up-, Jackson! Just because he doesn't fit whatever stupidity is going on in your mind, doesn't make Stiles a loser! Neither is Scott, for that matter. They're both great guys. Just .. back off! God!" Danny turns on a dime and stomps away, leaving the other two gaping at his retreating back.

"Uhm .. yeah, what Danny said. Lay off Stiles ...... and Scott." Okay, so Derek would have to admit that he only includes Scott in that statement because of what Stiles had just said. If the two teens were going to get back together ... well, Derek would have to suck it up and deal.

"... whatever. Stiles is a freak and he always will be." Jackson sneers at Derek before he practically runs after Danny. Derek sometimes wonders about those two, if they are a quiet couple the same way Stiles and Scott were. With a wince, he slinks off toward class.

* * *

By the time lunch comes around, Stiles is wallowing and he knows it. That doesn't mean he's able to stop, though. He feels like a pit of despair has opened up inside of him, and he can't actually figure out -why-. He and Derek have been strangers for the entirety of their lives as far as Stiles knows. So, why does he feel so damn crushed to know that Derek doesn't want to acknowledge anything between them? Hell, it's not as if there -is- anything between them! One lacrosse practice, some lasagna, and a video game session doesn't actually make them friends. But it still hurts.

"S-Scott ..." Stiles whispers his friend's name, watching the brown haired boy practically trip over himself when he turns to seek Stiles out among the crowd of students heading toward the cafeteria. All the animosity, the anger, and misunderstandings dry up in an instant when their eyes lock. As if one, they are both propelled forward until they inevitably collide. Scott's arms wrap tightly around Stiles' torso, clutching at his friend in an attempt to keep him upright. At the same moment, Stiles grabs fistfuls of Scott's shirt at the small of his back as he shoves his face into the crook of his best friend's neck.

"Stiles!? What's going on?" For once, the teen isn't self-conscious. Isn't darting his eyes around to see if anyone is reading too much into their embrace. Someone could call Stiles his boyfriend at this very moment and he wouldn't care. Because he's worried for the sadness seeming to waft off his best friend in staggering waves. 

"I ... uhm ... " Stiles' words are an inelegant tumble of tear-stained manpain as he clings to his friend. His hands tighten in the crumpled material, his eyes closed so hard that it hurts, but does very little to cease the tears falling. 

"It's alright, man. Come on." Scott turns abruptly, his arms never leaving his friend as he carefully guides him through the throng of students that have stopped to stare at the strange, tearful reunion. Though none of them would admit it, the students are actually happy to see the two together again. It had been unnerving to think that the odd duo had ceased, even if only for a little bit.

Silently, and as quickly but carefully as he can, Scott maneuvers Stiles out of the crowd and back into the school building. Poor Stiles nearly trips over his own feet as Scott leads him into an empty classroom and closes the door behind them with one hand. A few more steps, and he is carefully settling on a table pushed against the back wall, drawing Stiles into his lap so that they can keep clinging to each other.

"It's going to be okay, Stiles. Just .. come on, tell me what's wrong?" Stiles recognizes this voice. It's the 'soothing' voice he uses when he's working at the Vet's office. The try not to spook the animals, voice. Some deep, dark part of himself wants to go into hysterics at the thought of being treated like a skittish animal, though he doesn't know why.

"I .. he ... it doesn't even make sense!" He wails the words softly against Scott's neck, his best friend shivering at the burst of moist heat against a ticklish spot. But he doesn't squirm or move away. Just continues holding his friend as he waits. "He's an asshole! He walked out after I made a stupid -joke- and then he acted like we hadn't even hung out in the first place. Because why would we!? I'm a total freakin' loser!" He releases a shaky, hiccuped breath as he trembles against his friend. 

"Stiles Stilinski! I -never- want to hear such bullshit from you again!" Scott hisses his words against Stiles' ear, arms tightening around his friend for a moment. "You are not a loser, damn it! Just because Jackass Whittemore and his minions talk smack doesn't make any of it true!" Stiles whimpers, struggles not to say something that might make them fight again, but he has to. After all, he owes Scott for being here for him. 

"N-not talking .. about Jackson, Scott." He sniffles, winces slightly when he feels the wet drag of his nose against Scott's neck. He forces himself to pull back. Forces himself to look his friend in the eye through the wavering veil of tears. "Derek. I meant what I said, Scotty, I never even heard of the asshat until you pointed him out, but then things happened. Before I knew it, he offered to help me with lacrosse practice, asked me to hang out. After you cancelled, he ended up coming over to eat pizza and play games. And I made a stupid joke, the kind of thing I would've said to you, and he just bailed. I walked out of a room while I was making the joke and when I walked back in he was just .... gone." He carefully wiggles in Scott's lap until his shoulder is pressed to his friend's chest and Scott's arms are looped perfectly around him. Cradling him close and protective. "And then, when I went to confront him this morning .. well, he basically made me sound like some delusional freak that thought we could be friends."

Scott sighs, practically vibrating with indignation on behalf of his best friend. Because Stiles being slighted is the same as Scott being slighted and vice versa. 

"... screw him." Scott growls vehemently. Stiles doesn't have the heart to point out that his best friend sounds like little more than a pissed off puppy when he makes the sound. Instead, he is touched that his friend can be that angry on his behalf. "I will gladly kick his ass, Stiles." Scott puffs up, so much so that Stiles can feel his chest expanding against his shoulder as his friend draws up in his anger. "Or, erm, try my best to, anyway. Because you're worth a -lot- more than that kinda bullshit, Stiles." Scott shifts, moves until he can lay his chin gently on his friend's shoulder. "Even if we're fighting ... even if we're having trouble getting along .... I'll always love you, Stiles. You'll always matter to me, okay?" Stiles whimpers. Trembles as he struggles out of Scott's arms just to settle more fully in his lap. He wraps his arms around his best friend, shoves his face into his neck again as he clings to him.

"You're the best everything a guy could ever ask for, Scott." He whispers the teary words into his friend's flesh, wincing and jerking in surprise when the warning bell goes off.

"Come on, bro. I'll walk you to class." The two exchange tired, sweet smiles before heading out.

* * *

Silently, Stiles drops his gear by the bench on the lacrosse field. The cool afternoon air makes him shiver, his hands reaching up to press almost absently against his cheeks. They are flushed with heat and color, fevered from the emotions he had expelled earlier while resting in Scott's arms. The next two classes had done very little to sooth his melancholia away. Mostly because he was without Scott for those two classes. 

"You're actually here!?" Derek's voice is a surprising percussion that Stiles simply isn't prepared for. He flails right off of the bench, wincing in pain as his back collides with the ground. He blinks slowly when he finds himself looking up into the shadowed but concerned features of one Derek Hale. Ugh. He's still sore and pissed because of this asshat!

"The actual -hell-, Derek!? I'm putting a freakin' bell on you .. or better -yet-, just don't sneak up on people like that, jerkface." He carefully climbs to his feet, struggling not to fall over in his usual lack of grace. "So, yeah, I'm actually here. I figured, if nothing else, I could practice my concentration or something." He shoves himself back down, onto the bench, yanking his bag open even as Derek drops his next to the bench.

Stiles turns suddenly, eyes narrowed to catch the light just right. And for a moment, poor Derek can't breathe. Because those thick, sooty lashes are framing eyes that look so deep and rich they look almost Beta Yellow and it cuts through Derek so deeply. He _wants_. 

"Whatever." Stiles suddenly bares his teeth in a silent snarl, and watches in confusion when Derek flushes beet red. When his eyes go a little glassy and distant as he watches the action. "What are -you- doing here, Hale?" He grits the question out and the teenage werewolf continues to stare kind of distantly.

"I .. uhm ... what??" Derek's words are slow like cold honey, moving in a sluggish, confused way as he tries to pry his mind out of the werewolf-centric gutter Stiles has sent it to. He shakes himself subtly, a frown tugging at his lips for a moment. "I ... hell, I hoped you'd be here." Stiles goes stock still. His hands clench into trembling fists against the curve of his hips as he stares the older teen down.

"Fuck you, Hale. After the bullshit you pulled in front of your jock friends, you -hoped- I'd be here? Are you mental or something!?" Stiles snarls the words, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation because he doesn't think there's any way he will actually be able to understand the other teen.

"What? No, I'm not .. I didn't ..... -YOU'RE- the one that said we weren't friends, Stilinski, then walked up to me like you had the -right-!" Derek roars the words, yanking on his pads as he glares into the distance. Refusing to look at the human that has pissed him off. Stiles rolls his eyes, yanking his helmet on before he turns to look at the other teen.

"Oh, for the love of --- dumbass!" Stiles screeches before he grabs up his stick and heads toward the goal. He is seething. Percolating in a stew of rage and sadness and he doesn't like the feeling of -either-. He takes his place in the goal, forcing himself to try and remain civil and calm. "It was a JOKE, Derek!" He practically howls the words, rearing back and kicking the side of the goal before he manages to calm again. "It's the kind of BS I tell Scott all the time! We'll joke about not being friends and every one knows that is the biggest load of bull possible. I was joking, and you just disappeared without a goodbye, and then treated me worse than something you dragged in on your -shoe-, in front of the biggest asshole that has made my life fucking impossible!" He huffs an angry breath, wincing when he reaches up to carefully pull his shirt away from the mottled bruise on his back. 

"You know what? I should have just done what Jackson said! I should've just cancelled!" He nearly throws his stick down in his anger, but before he can, he yelps in surprise when Derek is suddenly just there. Taking up all of his personal space. 

"When did Jackson say that??" He demands in a growling voice, eyes narrowed. For a moment, Stiles thinks he has seen something. A trick of the light that turns Derek's eyes yellow. But when he blinks, it's gone. 

"Does it even matter, Derek? I just --"

"WHEN, STILES!?" He roars the words, taking an almost threatening step forward and Stiles yelps in surprise .. and fear. It's the acrid scent of ashy fear that pulls Derek back from the brink. Because he realizes that -Stiles- is -afraid- of him and it is worse than having a wolfsbane knife sunk into his innards. He jerks back so heavily he nearly trips over his own feet, barely managing to keep himself standing as he rips his helmet off. "I'm sorry, Stiles." He whispers the words almost hoarsely, Stiles wincing a little before he yanks his helmet off, too. 

"I ... it isn't your place to protect me, Derek. Yeah, Jackson threatened me to stay away. To cancel practice and I refused. And .. yes, before you say anything, before you start making demands, -he's- the one that bruised my back. While he was threatening me, in fact. He shoved me against my locker and the handle dug into my back. I don't think he even meant to do it, really." He reaches up, tugs at his left earlobe, trying his hardest not to look up at Derek.

"I can't believe he would do something like that. God, I want to rip his throat out with my -teeth-!" Derek snarls and immediately winces at how violent his words are, at the scent of fear that Stiles is still cloaked in. He takes several more steps back, his hands twisting around his lacrosse stick.

"... wow, that escalated quickly, dude!" Stiles manages a wane smile, and Derek feels his shoulders relax a little bit. "Look, thanks, but there's no reason for you to go after him, okay? He's an asshole, he will always be an asshole, and I'm really not worth starting a fight over." 

"Oh my GOD!" Derek falls back on Stiles' usual exclamation, nearly snapping his stick as he stares down at the other teen. "Why do you -always- say bullshit like that, Stiles!? I mean, come on, you can't really -believe- any of that, right?" There is a nearly passionate vehemence in Derek's voice that takes Stiles by surprise. After a moment, he slips around the other teen and heads back toward the bench, where he collapses into an undignified sprawl.

"Yeah, Derek. Okay? Yeah. I really -do- believe that, because that's what -everyone- has said to me, my entire life! When I was a kid, it was all the teachers telling my parents they should put me in special education because I'd never learn. It was doctors saying that I could manage my ADHD with pills but I'd never amount to anything. It's jackholes like Jackson reminding me that I'm ugly and pathetic. It's the Lydia Martins staring right through me, the Dannys refusing to talk to me unless it suits them. Or, hell, even -you-. I didn't know who you were until we got in a fight over a book! And even then, you just reiterated that Jackson was right. So yeah, Hale, I -absolutely- believe all of that." He yanks his pads off and shoves them into his backpack. 

"So, thanks for taking the time to help the local loser, but don't worry. I don't expect you to keep slummin' it, dude. I won't bother you again." Stiles grabs up his bag and quietly heads back toward his Jeep.

* * *

"It's okay, Stiles. We've got this." Scott beams at his best friend, reaching out to squeeze gently at his shoulder as they stare at the field stretching out before them. All of their fellow Freshmen are huddled close, those that have gone through try-outs before are mingling and seem completely immune to their nerves.

"Yeah, I know. We got this." He tries to smile, but it just can't reach his eyes. Though his best friend doesn't seem to notice. 

"Good luck, Stiles." He jumps and whirls around, coming face to face with an earnest looking Derek Hale. Stiles squeaks slightly, his smile actually reaching his eyes this time.

"Erm, thanks, Derek. Not that you need it or anything, but yeah, good luck to you too, man." Scott takes several steps closer to Stiles, glaring outright at Derek who winces in surprise at the animosity from the other boy.

"Hale." Scott's voice practically drips with acid and anger, and Derek shrinks back a little bit. 

"McCall. Good luck out there. I, uh ... I'm glad you two are back together." He offers a wane smile before he turns and hurries off in the direction of Jackson and Danny.

"Back together?" Scott questions and Stiles can do little more than shrug because it doesn't make any sense to him, either. Though, if he could actually muster up the brain cells to think about it, it wouldn't be hard to figure out. He huffs and shuffles, turning around to glance at the stands. Where his Dad is sitting with Ms. McCall, and where Lydia has a sparkly sign with Jackson's name on it. 

"... I think I'm gonna be sick, Scott. Oh god, I'm gonna make such a fool of myself." He can feel his breathing beginning to shift. When he hears a shout, his eyes lift and immediately lock with Derek's. Who looks shocked and worried. He starts miming taking slow, deep breaths and Stiles immediately imitates him until he's breathing normally. He flashes a thankful smile at the other teen, who beams in much the same way that Scott had. 

"Alright! Time to get this show started! When I call your name, step up!" Coach Finstock's voice is booming and holds an almost childish hint of glee that -really- sets Stiles on edge. 

"Bilinski!" Confused eyes begin to roam all over the gathering, waiting. A minute and a half goes by, before Derek stands and walks over to Finstock.

"Do you mean Stilinski, Coach?" He rolls his eyes as the Coach glances down at the paper.

"Right. Yeah. Stilinski!" Stiles puts on his best Bitch Face before he stands, yanking his helmet on, and heads toward the Coach. "Into the net, little man. Next up .. Whittemore, Mahealani, McCall, Hale, Derring, and Caleb!" Stiles positions himself in the net, carefully cracking his neck and shoulders as he waits. Once the others are lined up, Coach turns toward the net. "Alright! You each take a shot and then move to the back of the line, until you've each taken 3 shots. Stilinski! Not that I expect much, just .. do your best to block them."

Stiles winces when he sees Jackson scramble to be the first in line. Because of -course- he's going to do his best to make something as simple as a try-out a living HELL for Stiles. He sucks in a breath, exhales carefully, and forces himself into a zen state of mind. (Or, at least, as zen as an ADHD suffer can be.)

"This is gonna be golden, Stilinski." Jackson sneers as he tosses the ball up a few times and catches it, trying to draw Stiles attention before he launches the ball at him. And then promptly growls in anger when Stiles easily snatches it out of the air and tosses it back. Jackson fumbles it, barely managing to catch it before it hits the ground. 

"Woot!" Derek and Scott both shout and cheer for Stiles as Jackson stomps off to the back of the line. Stiles easily catches every throw, keeping the net free. When it's Derek's turn, he grins playfully and Stiles returns it. It wouldn't take a genius to know what Derek's going to do! He rushes forward and tosses it to the one spot Stiles had had so much trouble; the bottom left. Stiles manages to scoop it up, tossing it back to Derek who catches it with ease. "Smart catch, Stiles." Derek winks at him before he takes to the back of the line.

One by one he catches them all, throws them back, and watches as Coach Finstock seems to practically light up with glee. By the time he is ushered back toward the bench, the stands are alight with people chanting STILINSKI at the top of their lungs. Even Lydia seems to give him a thoughtful glance. Once he has pulled his helmet off, he's not that surprised to feel an arm slide around his shoulders. 

"Told you that you had this in the bag, Stiles." He jumps in surprise when the arm is attached to Derek Hale, but he doesn't pull away or anything. He just grins sorta shyly at him.

"Thanks, Derek. I might actually make first line." He has to consciously clench his muscles to keep from wiggling like an excited little kid. Derek laughs, though, as if he has somehow guessed exactly what Stiles wants to do. He drops his arm away, but doesn't move.

"Maybe you'll learn to trust me, Stiles, and believe me when I say that you're way better, in -every- way, than you think you are." There's a note of pure sadness in Derek's voice that catches him off guard, but he never gets the chance to say anything about it. Because Scott slides in on his other side, threading his arm through Stiles'.

"Oh my god, you -killed- it, Stiles! I can't -even-!" Stiles grunts in surprise when Scott envelopes him in a sudden hug. He chuckles and hugs back, clapping him lightly on the back. 

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't do too bad. I guess we'll find out tomorrow." When they pull apart, Stiles turns to look at Derek, but the other side of the bench is empty. When he looks around, he sees the older teen already headed toward the stands, toward what could be nothing less than the Hale clan. Nearly 10 people surging forward to greet him. It causes a pang of sadness deep in the teen, reminding him that his Dad is all he has.

"Hey, Kiddo!" Speak of the devil! The Sheriff drops onto the bench, patting his shoulder. "Looks like that Hale kid was right, Son. You're a shoe-in for first line. Keep this up, you might make Captain next year." Stiles grins faintly, battling down a blush. He glances casually over his shoulder, blushing even deeper when he sees Derek, a girl a few years older than him, and an older man staring at him. The moment they catch his eye, they turn as one and move off after the rest of the family. Yeah, that wasn't freaky or anything. 

"Come on, Stiles. Lets go get supper."

* * *

Morning classes have been an utter disaster. No matter how hard he tries, he can't bring himself to concentrate on anything. Math, science, English, every thing goes in one ear and out the other. He makes a few decent, passable notes for each class, but he knows that he'll have to beg someone to let him see theirs.

The fact that he is completely distracted is also the reason he doesn't realize that eyes are tracking him, lips are whispering about him, and hormones are raging in his direction. He doesn't jump or flail like a mad man when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Maybe Derek's strange lurking has managed to desensitize him a little bit. Whatever. 

"Stiles! Dude ... just lunch and then two more class periods and we can find out if we made it!" Scott is practically vibrating next to him, energy thrumming through him as he knocks his hip against his best friend's. "Well, it's not as if you're waiting or anything. We both know -you- made it!" And that, right there, is proof positive why Stiles and Scott will always be best friends. Because Scott seems to shine with the inner light of happiness at the thought that his friend has made first line. Even if Scott is relegated to the bench, he will be overjoyed that his friend made it. They will always live their lives in tandem and he's totally okay with that. 

"Dude, you know that if you don't make first line, I'm totally going to quit, right?" He knocks his shoulder with his best friend, grinning sweetly. Scott, however, is looking as if someone has shoved something cold and slimy down his throat! His mouth is hanging open, lips working like a gasping fish.

"No .. can't .. wouldn't dare ... -please-, Stiles .. I love you, man, can't do that because of -me-!!" Stiles blinks in surprise before he reaches out to grab his best friend by the shoulders to steady him.

"Take a breath! I was just kidding around with you, man." Scott sucks in a deep, shaky breath, and manages to dial down his energy a little bit. "Go on, man. Go grab some lunch. I'll be out here." He smiles warmly at his friend before he turns and heads toward a picnic table. Scott hesitates for a moment, but then turns and takes off like the good puppy he is. Stiles drops carefully onto the bench of the table, laying his cheek against the warm wood and closing his eyes. 

"... this is getting to be a really annoying trend with you, Stilinski." Again, Stiles doesn't bother to jerk or flail when he hears the voice from behind him. Though this time, it's actually Derek and not Scott. He huffs a warm breath, remaining curled over.

"What trend, Hale?" The sound of rustling fabric is quickly followed by the heavy grind of plastic against plastic. In less than five seconds, Stiles feels his nose begin to twitch. He sits bolt upright, his hands lifting into the air to start making grabby motions toward Derek. "I smell something delicious. Gimme gimme!" He doesn't even -try- to hide the almost petulant demand in his voice. Rather than be annoyed or roll his eyes, Derek grins as he shoves the container into Stiles' outstretched hands. "... dude ..... like, DUDE!" His voice drops to a nearly reverent tone as he stares down at a thick, brown stew full of meat and veg. Derek slides a spoon into his hand. 

"Please tell me you're not going to keel over or something, Stiles." There's a note of nervousness hiding in the playful tone of his voice. Stiles carefully scoops out his first bite, moaning in delight. 

"What's in this? Because seriously, Derek, marriage contract!" He sighs happily as he shovels more into his mouth. Too busy fighting off his food-gasm to see the fact that Derek has gone beet red and ducked his head in fear that Stiles will see his reaction.

"It's venison and vegetables with some potato." Stiles makes another sound of appreciation, missing the almost sheepish look on Derek's handsome features. Because not only did he cook the stew .... he also hunted the deer while wolfed out. But he can't exactly just come right out and -brag- about that, now can he? He shifts a little uncomfortably on the bench next to the human teen.

"Thanks, man. It's the best stew I've ever had." He hums happily before managing to put the tupperware down and glance over at the teen. "Though, I hope I'm not, like, stealing your lunch or anything, Derek. You, uh .. you don't have to keep doing this, you know?" He winces at the lameness of his words, but he just doesn't know what to say! Are they friends now? Is everything behind them? Is this still Derek just pitying him or something? He struggles to try and escape the second guessing but it's so hard.

"Trust me, Stiles, not many people can make me do anything I don't want to do." His Alpha/Mom and his older sister Laura are the only two that come to mind at the moment. He crosses his arms on the table, leaning into it slightly as he side-eyes the human teen. "And you're not stealing anything from me. I'm glad you're enjoying it. And it's only one of the two reasons I came over." Stiles glances up with a mouth full of stew, his cheeks round and fat like a chipmunk as he watches Derek look around sort of .. shifty-like, before he leans close. He yanks a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and plops it down in front of Stiles. "Go ahead." He can't keep the bright smile off of his face. Stiles pushes the tupperware to the side and grabs up the paper. 

Once he unfolds it, he squints down at the wrinkled sheet of paper. Coach Finstock's handwriting is pretty unmistakable.

"Is ... is this .. what I think it is, Derek?" 

"Yup." In a Stiles-like way, he pops the P on the word, grinning from ear to ear as Stiles tilts down over the sheet of paper to try and figure out what Coach's handwriting means. First, he sees Captain; Derek Hale, written large across the top. It takes him almost a minute and a half to find it ... first line ...... goalie ..... Stiles Stilinski.

"Oh My GOD!!" Stiles shouts the words even as he jerks up to his feet. He leaves the piece of paper on the table, throwing both hands up in the air. He executes an impressive double fist pump to the heavens before he turns and practically throws himself at Derek. He wraps his arms around the older teen's shoulders and hugs him almost forcefully. (Not that Derek is complaining in the -least-!) Stiles is pressed almost flush against his body. He can smell every thing, see every thing, feel every thing, hear every thing and it is overwhelming his senses in the most beautiful way. He barely has time to get his arm up and around Stiles waist before he can feel a wall of teenage angst and petty anger bearing down on them. 

"Seriously!?" Scott's petulant voice may as well be a crowbar for how quickly it pries Derek and Stiles apart. Well, more accurately, how quickly the sound causes Stiles to rip himself out of Derek's one arm embrace. He settles himself on the bench of the picnic table just as Scott lets a tray clatter to the table top across from him. "I thought we were going to have lunch together, Stiles. Why does -he- have to be here?" Pouting like a pre-schooler, Scott collapses on the bench across from Stiles, throwing unveiled, dirty looks at Derek as he does so.

"He's here because I want him to be, Scott." Stiles makes the statement just as easy and simple as you please. As if those words don't have the power to shake the foundation of Scott's world and turn Derek's existence upside down at the same time. Nervously, Stiles grabs the piece of paper and glances it over again, before he sighs in soft defeat. "He also brought me this .. though, well, man, it looks like Imma have to do what I said." He hands the piece of paper over, watching Scott's features fall when he sees that he's riding the bench. It's not technically a surprise or anything, of course. Scott's asthma was an obstacle to any sport, and it isn't going away any time soon. "Sorry, man." 

Scott shoves the piece of paper out of the way, looking up to meet Stiles' eyes. His own are full of that soft sweetness they usually hold where his best friend is concerned, crinkled at the sides with laugh lines. 

"Stiles! You -totally- made first line, man!" Scott shoves his tray away and literally climbs over the top of the picnic table to collapse in Stiles' lap so that he can hold him. "And what I said still stands! There is no -way- you are quitting just because I'm riding the bench! You're totally going to go out there and -own- that goal, bro." Scott tries to waggle a finger at Stiles, which sends the teen off into a fit of laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry, Scotty-boy. I'm not going to deprive everyone all of this on the field." He hugs his friend tightly before depositing him on the bench beside him. He then reaches out to throw an arm around Derek's shoulders, not realizing that he is halting the older teen's retreat. "So! We really need to go and celebrate, right? What do you say? Video games at my place? Stop by the bakery and get a bunch of sugary stuff? What should we do?" He's practically lit up with happiness and completely oblivious to Scott vibrating with anger to his right and Derek scowling with embarrassment and anger to his left.

"How about -you and I- do video games and sweets, Stiles, and Derek can go hang out with Danny and Jackson like he always does?" Scott huffs the words, dragging his tray back toward him as he sulkily begins to pick at and eat the contents. Derek scowls at the now empty tupperware, closing it up almost aggressively.

"Or! We can let the potato there stew and sulk like the two year old he apparently is, and we can catch a movie after school." Derek flashes a tentative, hopeful smile, but nearly recoils when he sees the dark mood overshadowing Stiles' handsome features.

".. or, you both can just go to your separate corners and call me when you -grow up-." He jerks up, off the seat, yanking his backpack on and stomping away from the two. Leaving Scott and Derek glaring daggers at one another accusingly, each blaming the other for Stiles' fleeing.

* * *

Stiles curls up on his couch, frowning at the powered down tv a few feet away. Getting home to cold pizza and the knowledge that his Dad had been called into work had done nothing to improve his mood. He's still suffering a slow simmering rage over Derek and Scott's inability to get along. Because he's being forced to accept the fact that he -really- wants to be friends with Derek, but that will be near impossible if he can't find a way for him and Scott to at least -tolerate- each other. 

His gaze strays to the paper plate of congealed pizza and he shudders a little in disgust. Sure, he could pry himself off the couch and go re-heat it, but twice re-heated pizza just sounds nasty. Sure, most teenage boys will eat just about anything, but he's just not feeling it at the moment.

"Stupid pizza. Stupid station. Stupid boys that can't get along." He mutters forlornly before he begins to turn toward the back of the couch, fully hoping that by some miracle, he will just conk out. Miracle of miracles, he feels himself beginning to fall asleep moments before the doorbell goes off, jerking him back to full awareness. Reluctantly, he rolls over and throws himself to his feet. With a grunt and a groan, he narrowly misses overbalancing into the coffee table before he stumbles around it and toward the door.

Surprise, confusion and just plain being dumbstruck are not sufficient enough to describe how he feels when he wrenches his front door open to find Scott and Derek standing side by side in front of him. Scott has plastic bags full of video games and soda, while Derek is awkwardly holding a large bakery box and a cloth bag of Chinese food.

"Am I dreaming? Did I actually fall and hit my head when I got up? Is this some kind of parallel universe??" He mumbles the words more to himself than his friends, but he doesn't miss the way that Derek's eyes seem to widen. His nostrils flare and he starts to fumble the things in his hands, wanting to reach out toward Stiles and make sure he's okay.

"You fell!?" The older teen actually whimpers the words, and Stiles is struck with a rising swell of sheer affection for the guy. He tries not to blush even as he rolls his eyes.

"No, I didn't actually fall. It was a near miss, though. Come on." He steps to the side, letting them both enter before he closes the door and ushers them into the living room. They both deposit their things on the coffee table, Scott snagging the cold pizza and wolfing it down before he plops gracelessly on the end of the sofa. Stiles rolls his eyes fondly before he shuffles fully into the room. 

Poor Derek. Once he has freed his hands, he has just enough time to turn and catch sight of Stiles. Who looks like something conjured straight out of a wet dream to the poor werewolf. He's just this side of sleep ruffled. Not so much that he looks childish, just enough that he looks sexy with his sleep heavy doe eyes and the faint hints of red in his apple cheeks. His jeans are riding low on his hips, revealing the edge of a defined hip line and the beginnings of his happy trail. The collar of his shirt is pulled hard to the side, stretched in such a way that it shows off his slender collarbone and makes Derek's gums itch with the need to pop fang and nip. 

He quickly turns away, breathing heavy but silent, thankfully. 

"So .. after you left, me and Derek decided that we would call a momentary truce, to celebrate." Derek shoots a glance in Scott's direction, but it's unreadable, so Stiles doesn't pay much attention. 

"We brought games, loads of soda, donuts and chocolates, and a bunch of Chinese food. Get comfy, Stiles!" Scott beams at him as he grabs a game and stands up to put it into the system. "Dude, Mario Kart!" Scott waves the plastic case around to emphasis his point as he grabs the controllers and heads back to the couch. Derek settles on the right, not even bothering to hide the fact that he grabs Stiles by the edge of his shirt and hauls him down next to him. Scott rolls his eyes but takes the left side of the couch, both teens practically pressed possessively against Stiles as he settles.

Now, Stiles would -like- to say that this is a dream come true, but it's really not. Sure, he's had dreams of being trapped between two people that really seem to want his attention/time/affection, but those dreams -always- featured Lydia and Danny, the two most unattainable people he's ever met. Not his brother from another mother and the popular jock from school! 

That being said, however, he finds himself having a little trouble concentrating on not sending Princess Peach flying off the edge of a course every time Derek moves and it causes his knee to press into his, or their thighs to knock together a little bit. In moments like that, he's hard pressed to remember that Scott is even in the same room as them! He keeps losing his breath, losing his concentration, and struggling not to start chanting things like Mr. Stiles Hale in his head, because that would just be pathetic. (Not to mention jumping the gun quite a bit, you know?)

"Yes!" Scott leaps off the couch, fist pumping the air even as he whoops and 'dances' in triumph. "Man, that's three games in a row! What's going on here? I know at least -you- usually play better than this, Stiles." His words cause both teens to freeze where they are sitting, making sure not to look at each other as Scott regards them quietly for a moment. Derek swears there's a look of suspicion in his eyes, but that could just be him projecting. He feels guilty, as if he's still driving a wedge between them and part of him is perfectly okay with that, because he want Stiles. All's fair, right?

"Ugh. Every one has an off day, Scotty." Stiles pouts prettily, poking his tongue out at his best friend before he stands to begin gathering trash. "But thanks. Both of you. For coming over. It's been a lot of fun." He flashes them both a smile, nearly blushing when Derek jumps up to help clean up. 

"It's no problem, Stiles. What are besties for, right? Besides, I've missed you." Scott flashes his brightest smile before collapsing on the couch again. Derek winces as he tosses the trash in his hands away. After a moment, he turns, pushing himself up, onto the counter next to the sink as he watches Stiles move around the kitchen.

"I'm sorry me and Scott upset you today." He shuffles his gaze away from the human, staring down at his dangling feet instead. "I, uh .. I'm really glad you two .. worked it all out." He feels as if he is having to force those words out of himself, struggling to try and appear as if he actually means it. Well, some part of him does, because he just really wants the human to be happy, but he mostly wants him to be happy with -him-.

"Yeah, it's always weird when we're fighting and don't see each other, but sometimes ... as odd as it sounds, sometimes it's a good thing when we don't spend time together." Stiles shifts uncomfortably, hating to admit that. Especially after how great Scott had been when he held him as he cried. They have seen each other at their lowest and they have yet to run away. 

"Listen .. I can take off, if you want." Derek wants to shove those words back into his mouth. Wants to choke them back down and hope that Stiles didn't hear them because he really doesn't want to be the bigger/better person here. He wants Stiles all to himself. "Give you and Scott some time, now that you're ... not fighting." He will -not- label them as being together, if only for his own peace of mind.

"What?" Stiles blinks rapidly, his eyes going slightly glassy as he tries to understand what Derek means. The teen wants to leave? Well, he should be expecting that, huh? Maybe he felt pressured to be here or something. Stiles still has no clue if they're actually friends or not. This emotional back and forth is starting to give him whiplash. "Oh. Uh." Stiles fumbles for words, immediately looking away from Derek's perch, peering instead toward the door leading into the living room. Scott would probably love that, getting to hang out without Derek there, but he isn't sure if he would like it. He swallows thickly, forces himself to give a little bit of a smile. 

"Sure, I mean .. if you want to leave, I get it. You don't have to stick around if you don't want to, Derek." He tries to conjure up a friendly, understanding smile but it comes across as more of a grimace.

"What? No .. I was ... I don't want to ... damn it!" Derek snarls the words damn it, hands clutching at his jeans as he struggles to keep his claws in. He keeps doing this! Keeps saying just the wrong thing when trying to express himself. He has never fought so hard with words before in his life, but now, he cannot make himself be understood no matter how badly he tries! He blames Stiles. Because every time he's presented with the human, he finds himself tongue-tied and lacking in confidence. He has never had reason to be either! He sucks in a deep breath, furrows his brows and forces his hands to pull free of his jeans. "I don't -want- to go, Stiles. I -like- being here." He picks each word carefully, brows furrowing further as he stares down at his hands. "I just thought, since Scott really doesn't like me around, maybe I should give you guys some time together." He huffs out a breath, feeling himself begin to relax now that he has actually managed to speak as clearly as he can. 

They are both taken aback when Stiles steps forward, crowds into Derek's personal space enough that his stomach brushes the werewolf's knees.

"If Scott doesn't like you, that's -his- problem, Derek." The vehemence of the words causes a warmth to settle in the pit of his stomach, causing him to blush a little at the thought that Stiles feels that passionately about something that should be rather silly. He shivers on an out breath, trying not to stare at the point of contact between them. "Despite every thing. All the .. misunderstandings and strange little arguments ..... despite the way you made me feel in front of Jackson and Danny .. I .. I -want- to be your friend, Derek." The werewolf struggles for a moment to breathe, because this means that he hasn't messed up. That, despite -everything-, Stiles still wants to know him in some capacity. 

"I'm sorry. For being such an asshole in front of Jackson and Danny. It was bullshit and I didn't mean it." On a whim, and before his brain can filter the action and stop it, he reaches out to place his hand on Stiles' shoulder. Squeezes gently just to reassure himself that the moment is real. "After you left, Danny told Jackson off, and I told the jackhole to leave you alone." He reluctantly draws his hand back, letting it fall to the counter top beside him. "If it will make up for the way I acted, I'll march right up to the prick and tell him we're friends. Because I really didn't mean what I said, Stiles. I was just pissed off." He fidgets for a moment, taken by surprise yet again when Stiles reaches out for him. When he feels a hand splay tentatively across his stomach, drawing his gaze there immediately.

"Derek .." He murmurs the name softly, tongue flashing out to lick across his dry bottom lip. "I don't give a flying rat's ass what Jackson thinks as far as our friendship goes. Though, I gotta say, it's kinda awesome Danny stuck up for me." The sound of a humorless laugh makes Derek wince, but he dares not say anything for fear of ruining the moment when Stiles' fingers splay a little wider against his shirt. Almost as an afterthought, he wishes the material would ride up a little bit, let him feel the touch against bare skin. "What I -care- about .. is if -you- actually -want- to be friends with me. This back and forth bullshit is starting to give me a headache and emotional whiplash."

"Fuck, I don't mean to. To cause all this trouble, Stiles. I -want- to be friends. Have .. for longer than you know, but every time I'm around you, I turn into a bumbling idiot or something and every thing comes out wrong. And yeah, I really want to be friends. With you. Please." The words are falling free from his pursed lips without his permission! He knows that he must sound like some blathering idiot, but he can't stop. Every thing he has wanted for several months is being dangled in front of him.

"Okay. Yeah." Stiles hand begins to move, sliding down just a fraction, causing his pinky to catch on the edge of Derek's shirt. Just as he begins to draw the material up, sound from the kitchen doorway causes him to jerk back and away. Derek curses under his breath, throws a murderous look at Scott's direction as the teen comes stumbling into the room.

"You two are taking -forever-, Stiles! I'm getting bored. Lets go play." Scott grabs Stiles by his hand and drags him into the living room, leaving Derek trying to catch his breath on the counter top. Just a few more -seconds- and he would've know what it felt like to have Stiles' hand on his bare skin. He fights down the desire to shift. To run into the living room, tackle Scott and sink his fangs into his shoulder for interrupting the moment. Instead, he soothes the inner beast as best he can before he slides off the counter and heads back into the living room.

"Come on, Boo!" Stiles coos at Scott, who is scowling like mad at the screen, because now that Stiles can actually concentrate on the game, he is kicking ass! Derek grimaces at the word Boo, reminds himself for the upteenth time that jealousy/rivalry is -not- a sanctioned reason to wolf out and attack someone. Instead, he settles, pressed a little into Stiles side, grabbing up a controller to wait for his turn to join in. "Annnnnddd .... that! Is how you kick ass, babe." He flutters his lashes playfully, Scott scowling petulantly. 

"Stop calling me Boo, Stiles. It creeps me out." He grumbles and grouses as they set up the next game. Derek's gaze snaps to Scott and he emits a growl that is, thankfully, too low for the two humans to hear. Because he wants to smack the idiot up the backside of his head! He'd give just about -anything- to have Stiles call him Boo and flutter those obscenely pretty lashes at him, and Scott is **-bitching-** about it!? How is this even FAIR?! 

"Whatever, Scott. You know you love it."

"I really, really don't, Stiles." The room goes instantly quiet, Stiles and Derek's eyes widen as he they watch Scott. Who is glaring at the controller in his hand. 

"Oh. Right, of course. Sorry, dude. My bad. I'll stop." Stiles manages to smile reassuringly at Scott, though he also stands from the couch. He puts his controller up, gathering the games and putting them away. "It's almost curfew time, and Dad'll be calling soon, so I'll see you two later." He holds the bag of games out to Scott, who grabs them with a smile. Seemingly unaware of the tension that his words caused. 

"Cool. See you tomorrow, Stiles." He doesn't bother addressing Derek before he turns and heads out to grab his bike and head home. Derek hesitates, watching Stiles clean the last of the mess up. His heart hurts for the younger teen, and he really wishes he knew how to make this better. How to snap Scott back to reality. Because the dumbass -really- needs to understand exactly what he has, and not to take it for granted. 

"I had a lot of fun, Stiles." He feels lame stating the obvious, but when it causes Stiles to flash a real, even if small smile, he feels better for having said it.

"I'm glad. I did too, Derek. I'll text you later, okay?" Derek nods and turns toward the door. "I'm glad we're friends now." The words follow him out, leaving him feeling lightheaded and lighthearted. Maybe, just maybe, they can make a friendship work.

* * *

"Oh my god." Stiles is trembling, wringing his glove covered hands as he peeks out at the bleachers. Which are full. And why shouldn't they be!? It's the first game of the season. "OH MY GOD! Dad's out there. So's Melissa. The entire freakin' precinct is out there. Oh god. I'm going to screw up." His breathing is uneven, choppy and pitched as he begins to breakdown under the pressure. Because he was -never- meant to be first line! He is a bench warmer, has been his **-entire-** life! How on earth did he think he would be ready for this?? How did he think -this- would be a good idea!? 

"For God's sake, just BREATHE, Stiles!" Derek materializes out of nowhere, grabbing Stiles at the elbow to draw him close to his side. "Slow, steady. Stop freaking out, man." There's a hint of fond exasperation in the words, causing Stiles to blush a little bit. Though he is also breathing better now. Has been since the second Derek touched him. He should probably analyze that. At a much later date, when there isn't the impending promise of socially accepted physical violence headed his way.

"Right. Stop freaking out. It's -totally- that easy, right? I mean, there's absolutely no reason to freak out when the stands are full of my Dad, my Melissa, almost two-thirds of the precinct that I grew up with as a surrogate family. Sure. Everything's totally kosher, man." He chuffs and bites at the index finger of his left glove, grunting against the material as he tries to soothe himself with his oral fixation. Though he's not really conscious of the fixation. Derek is, though. So very much! He tracks the movement of teeth and tongue, feeling his eyes go a little distant as he watches.

"Stiles .." Derek squeaks the name ever so slightly, ears going red to the tips with a flush of embarrassment. He clears his throat, fingers squeezing Stiles' elbow gently. "Yeah, everyone is out there, but you -got- this, man. You kicked ass at try-outs. You kill it every practice. It's going to be okay. I know you can do this." Stiles turns his big doe eyes toward Derek, blinking muzzily. Forcing himself to calm down and focus on the other teenager. The moment he does, he yanks his elbow out of Derek's grasp in favor of throwing his arms around the werewolf's shoulders and hugging him tightly.

Derek is in a glassy-eyed daze the moment he registers arms around him. The moment he realizes that Stiles Stilinski is -hugging- him, where everyone can see. He feels a ball of warmth unfurl deep inside him, and he barely manages to get his arms around the other teen and squeeze before Stiles pulls away. When he smiles, practically lit up from the inside, Derek can't help but grin almost stupidly back.

"You're right, man. We've totally got this! With me in the goal and you leading the charge, -no one- stands a chance." Stiles punches him lightly in the arm and turns to face the rest of the team with a wide, infectious grin. Even Jackson grins back at him, caught up in the brotherhood of Team.

"Come on, Stilinski. Even you can't screw this up. We have the freakin' Dream Team going on." Jackson calls out, the words lacking their usual sting, delivered more in camaraderie than anything. Stiles flips him off discreetly, though he's still grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Whittemore." He starts to walk forward, only to have his arm caught up in Danny's hand. The Hawaiian boy moves to slide his arm gently around Stiles' shoulders, leaning into him with that dimpled smile. 

"That is Jackson's way of saying he has confidence in you, Stiles. Even if he's too emotionally constipated to actually -say- it." Jackson scoffs and glares at Danny, who simply smiles sweetly in his direction before squeezing Stiles closer for a moment. "But I gotta agree. If you play half as well as you do during practice, we've got this in the bag." 

Stiles can feel himself blushing, profusely. Because Scott and his Dad are the only two that ever actually compliment him. The only two that ever try to bolster his confidence and make him feel better about his abilities. To have three people say it in the past few minutes? He feels a little like he's floating. Like he can take on the world and **- _win_ -**! 

"Yeah ... yeah, okay. We totally got this!" He whoops, the other three cheering in his wake, grinning at one another. Coach's head snaps around, scowling at the three before he calls them to attention to give his big, rousing speech. But the four of them are too busy grinning and knocking into each other like over excited puppies.

* * *

The game is by no means an easy win. The back and forth has been brutal, with three different serious injuries; two on their side, one on the other team. Stiles has spent his entire time scrambling all over the net, working up a sweat and overtaxing his muscles to the point that he's a bit of a wreck as the last few minutes count down. Between Derek and Jackson, Beacon Hills has scored 8 goals, their opponents a good 7. 

Stiles can feel his breathing come as a wheeze, his hands tight around his lacrosse stick as he watches the two teams battle it out. He glances away from the action a single moment, to look at where Danny is settled on the bench. His leg is elevated, an ice pack pushed against his ankle. A tackle had left a rather large, brute of a teen piled on his leg. Thankfully, it looked to be nothing more than a sprain that has swollen the ankle up a bit. 

This moment of distraction is all it takes for the other team to get the upper hand and the sound of pounding cleats against the ground enough to alert Stiles to the other team bearing down on him. He moves forward, stick in hand, eyes darting all over as he tries to plot the possible moves the advancing behemoth could make. Unfortunately, he barely has time to react before he sees a wicked gleam in the guy's eye and he barells forcefully into him.

The first thing he registers is the painful crack of his back against the pole of the goal, followed by the whooshing sound of his breath leaving him in a single, pained gasp. The next thing he registers is the fact that he has managed to snatch the ball before it reaches the net. Mere seconds later, as he's tumbling to the ground, he hears the shrill whistle declaring the end of the match. Beacon Hills won! 

He whimpers and groans, rolling onto his side before managing to pick himself up. He has just enough time to fully regain his feet before he's being lifted up amidst shouts of STILINSKI. The pair of arms around him are Derek. Even without being able to see beyond the helmet, he knows that it's Derek. He feels Scott's hand on his shoulder, even Jackson's hand on his side, and he has never felt so accepted before. 

"Stiles!" Derek's particular timbre pulls him from his thoughts, and he glances down at the teen as he carefully lowers him to the ground. His excitement and fondness are suddenly eclipsed by concern and Stiles tries to smile reassuringly. "Are you okay? Where are you hurt!?" His voice is almost hoarse, gritty and gruff with worry as he looks him over. As if he could somehow see any marks on him through his uniform.

"I'm fine, Derek. Promise." He flashes his brightest, sweetest smile, and though Derek doesn't look completely convinced, he smiles faintly back before he moves to allow more well wishers to swarm him. Stiles ignores the painful pinch in his chest when he can no longer see his friend, but manages to smile and acknowledge every one congratulating him.

After what feels like forever, he feels the all too familiar arms of his Dad drawing him into a bone-crushing Stilinski hug, and this time, he doesn't have to fake the smile.

"I'm so proud of you, kiddo! That couldn't have been a better first game." The Sheriff is practically brimming with pride, preening with happiness and fatherly affection as he separates from him. "You really are getting good, Stiles. Looks like your practices paid off." 

"Thanks, Dad. I'm just glad I didn't embarrass either of us out there."

"Yo, Stilinski!" The unfamiliar friendliness in Jackson Whittemore's voice draws Stiles from his thoughts immediately. He whips around, wincing at the ache in his back, to see Jackson standing with Lydia, Danny, Derek, and a dark-haired girl he's never see before. "We're all going out to celebrate. You comin?" Stiles blinks in surprise, feels a surreal shift in the world, and glances at his Dad, who is grinning like the happiest papa -ever- as he nods encouragingly. 

"Yeah, sure. Gimme ten minutes, man!" He hollers back before he pats his Dad on the shoulder and runs off to find Scott. Once they have changed, he grabs Scott by the sleeve and drags him out to where the other teens are changed and waiting for him. Jackson's eyes narrow when he sees Scott, but for once, he manages not to say anything snide. Instead, he turns to look at Danny, smirking instead.

"Stiles, man, I don't have enough room for everyone. You'll have to take someone with you."

"I'll go!" While just about everyone had been expecting Danny to volunteer to spend time with Stiles, except Stiles himself, no one had really expected the other two voices in the mix; Lydia and Derek. Who look at each other with such withering glances that it's a wonder neither of them fall over dead. Danny's eyes have gone wide and he clears his throat, suddenly feeling a little shy and sheepish. 

"Uhm, nevermind, I can ride with Jackson." Stiles frowns, looking at the different people, and after a moment, he rolls his eyes.

"Danny, Derek, you guys can ride with me. I'm sure Lydia should ride with her boyfriend and friend." He then turns, not sparing the girl another look, as he strides off toward his Jeep, Scott hot on his tail as usual. Derek and Danny exchange looks before they take off running after them. Neither of them are about to look a gift horse in the mouth, after all! 

Derek reaches the passenger side first, opening the door once it's unlocked. He pops the seat up and ushers Danny back. When Scott gives him a quizzical look, he shoots him his Eyebrows of Doom, as Laura jokingly calls them, until Scott moves into the back with Danny. Once they are settled, Derek climbs in next to Stiles, practically beaming with happiness as they pull their seatbelts on.

"I told you that you had this, Stiles. You should really learn to listen to me." He cannot keep the almost preening smugness out of his voice. Stiles rolls his eyes and reaches out. At first, he had planned to punch his shoulder or maybe ruffle his hair playfully. Something silly and friendly, but instead, his hand lands on Derek's wrist and squeezes intimately.

"You were right, Der. I should've listened to you when we first started practicing. Thanks, man, for all of your help." He squeezes a second time and then lets go. Both occupants of the front miss the surprised, curious look exchanged between the occupants of the back.

* * *

Not surprising in the least, the Porsche beats the Jeep to the pizza place. Lydia, new-girl, and Jackson are already standing in front of the car by the time Stiles gets his Jeep parked. He and Scott are laughing about something, Danny rolling his eyes and proclaiming them both liars, while Derek just grins like a fool. Jackson seems to light up a little when he sees them, and Lydia, as usual, has a bit of a calculating look on her features. New-girl looks awkward, shy, but at the same time, somewhat content to be with them.

"Danny, get our usual table? I, uhm ... I need to talk to Stiles for a moment." The jock looks uncomfortable, and who could blame him? Every one is a little taken aback at the idea of Jackson having any reason for one-on-one time with the other teen, but they all nod and head toward the door, piling inside. Stiles immediately goes stiff and wary the moment they are alone, and Jackson winces in reaction. He knows that he was an asshole. -KNOWS- that Stiles has every right to be afraid of him, not to want to be around him. He is to blame for this, but he clears his throat and after an awkward moment .. he holds his hand out toward the other teen.

"I'm sorry, Stiles. For ... fuck, for -everything-, man. For all the shit over the years, for threatening you the other day .. all of it. I'm an asshole ... or, like you said, a -Jackhole-. Every one knows it. But I'm sorry." He flashes a bit of a weak smile, and Stiles wonders how much it has taken the popular jock to summon these words. His natural instinct is to snark. To say something sassy, biting, and demeaning after everything Jackson has put him through but he can't. Because secretly, this is something he has wanted. 

"... yeah, you've been a douchenozzle for as long as I've known you, Jackson. Hell, I think even in -kindergarten- you were a better-than-everyone prick .." Jackson winces and starts to gloomily pull his hand back but Stiles reaches out, threads his hand into Jackson's before he can retreat fully. "But it's all good, Jackson. You're forgiven, dude." A surprised, tentative smile softens Jackson's features and he can see why Danny has always taken up for the other teen. Because he really is one hell of a person. After all the BS Jackson has pulled, Stiles accepts him. Just like that. He forgives him. In the next moment, Stiles tugs the hand he holds and Jackson actually yelps in surprise when he finds himself in a one-armed bro-hug from his former nemesis. Jackson truly lights up at that, lightly patting Stiles back before they pull apart. He then reworks himself, so that he has an arm slung over Stiles' shoulders as they head inside. 

"Hi! Table for two?" The hostess asks, smiling sweetly. Both teens snort, and Stiles flaps a hand in the direction of the large, circular booth table at the back.

"Nope. We're with that rowdy bunch." They side step the woman, Jackson snorting in Stiles' ear as he rolls his eyes.

"Seriously, Stilinski, who even -says- rowdy these days? What are you, 70?" Stiles elbows Jackson goodnaturedly as they arrive at the table.

"Oh puh-lease, Whittemore! You -know- you want to have my vernaculars babies." Stiles makes that statement as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and the entire table goes silent as they stare between the two.

"Yeah, sure sure, and you know you want to have my athletics babies. Are we done stating the obvious?" They turn to see their friends staring at them. Mouths agape, eyes wide, speechless. They glance at each other with quirked brows before sharing identical eye rolls. Derek quickly exits the booth, letting Stiles crawl in so that he's sandwiched between Derek and Scott. Meanwhile, Jackson settles on the outside of the circular booth, getting comfortable.

"Am I the only one imagining their eerily brilliant, stunningly gorgeous, ruthlessly athletic offspring taking over the world?" New-girl poses the question with wide, awed, and slightly frightened eyes. The rest of the table, save Jackson and Stiles, are nodding in agreement. Stiles smirks wickedly at Jackson.

"Dude, did you hear that? Our maybe-babies will rule the world!" Jackson groans, rubbing a hand down his face, shaking his head.

"Allison, you're new, so you don't know this yet, but -never- encourage Stiles, okay? Besides, I can think of at least -three- people that would kill me if we -ever- had babies, Stiles." What he fails to state is that -they are all at this table-. He glances between Scott, Derek, and Danny, receiving glares from the last two and confused amusement from the first. Stiles rolls his eyes, turning his megawatt smile on new-girl.

"So! I'm taking it you're Allison? Since everyone here is -rude- and failed to introduce us, I'm been calling you New-girl in my head. But, it's nice to meet you, Allison." He actually pushes himself up, onto his knees so that he can hold a hand out to her. She is wearing a softly amused smile as she leans up and gives his hand a single shake before letting go.

"New-Girl, huh? Don't worry, I've just been calling you Chuckles in my head."

"Allison .. you've known his name for, like, a day and a half now." Lydia points out with that unshakable sneer in her voice. Allison quirks a brow and shrugs her left shoulder.

"So?" To this, Stiles throws his head back and laughs. A deep bellied, full bodied laugh that leaves everyone grinning in it's wake. There's something about his bright, out-going personality that is infectious.

"Oh, you I -like-. In fact, I think me and you are totally gonna be bros." Stiles nods almost sagely at her, and it's her turn to laugh. Soft, sweet, a little more restrained than Stiles, but full none the less.

"Sweet. I've been looking for a new girlfriend." They exchange wide, friendly smiles, and everyone at the table seems to relax into their seats now that everyone has found a happy medium to interact. 

"Stiles?" Scott's questioning tone seems to cut through the chatter all around them, and Stiles immediately turns to face his concerned friend, who's hand lands lightly on his arm. "How's your back? I never got the chance to ask. You hit the pole pretty hard." He can feel Scott's other hand gently ghosting over the spot he had hit, and he cannot help but melt back into the touch a little bit. Seriously, the bestest best friend -ever-! 

"Aww, I'm okay, Boo." He murmurs, trying to be quiet so that he doesn't accidentally interrupt anyone elses conversation. Unfortunately, it's loud enough that Danny and Derek both toss sad looks at the two, and Jackson looks thoughtfully at them for a moment. In the next instant, Stiles' eyes widen and his hand slaps over his mouth. He flinches, as if hit or pinched or something and he quickly puts just a little bit of distance between him and Scott. Looking apologetic as he pries his hand away. "Uhm. Sorry. About the Boo. Forgot you don't like that." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, before he looks around the table. Everyone is drinking and talking as they wait for thier food to arrive. So, at least they might not have heard Stiles playful words. "I'm fine, Scott. Thank you for asking." Beside him, on his opposite side, he can feel Derek stiffen and it confuses him. As does the curled fist resting on the booth between them. He doesn't understand what has so suddenly upset his friend, but without stopping to think of the action, he reaches out and runs his fingers tentatively along the fist, feeling it relax and unfurl under his touch before it pulls away. He can feel someone staring at him from across the booth. 

"Stiles?" Scott looks like a wounded, confused puppy and Stiles feels a wave of anger through him. Seriously? After Scott very pointedly said he -didn't- like Stiles saying things like that, he has the gall to look upset and confused when he backtracks? He sucks in a breath, teeth grinding for a moment before he turns to look at Derek.

"Lemme out for a minute, please, Der." He murmurs urgently, Derek already sliding out to let him stand before he finishes asking. Stiles all but jogs away from the table and toward the bathroom. He knows that he's running from his anger at Scott, but he can't help himself. He's here to have fun, to celebrate their victory, not wallow in whatever is happening with thier friendship. He shoves the bathroom door open, making a b-line for the sinks, practically slamming the water on. He flaps his hands under the cold spray, wincing slightly as water droplets go flying. Splattering the mirror, his shirt front, the wall. He doesn't even have the strength to whimper or groan before he lifts his hands and wipes the cold water down his face.

"Getting a little hot, Stiles?" The sound of a feminine voice in the bathroom causes him to jump and flail, three separate water droplets splashing Lydia Martin in the face. Her eyes narrow, looking momentarily -murderous- before she manages to school her features back into a look that is supposed to be pretty, flattering, and wanton. Instead, it just serves to make Stiles feel even more uncomfortable. 

"What the -hell- are you doing in here, Lydia? -Despite- this whole flirty and dumb persona you got going on at school, I -know- you're smart enough to realize you're the wrong gender for this bathroom." He quickly turns away from her, shutting the water off and trying to get himself under control. This is just too surreal and -strange-. When he turns to grab a paper towel, Lydia is holding one out for him. When he reaches, she pulls it closer and closer until he's hovering in her personal space. He finally manages to snatch it away.

"Oh, I don't know Stiles ... everyone seems to be rocking the gender-fluidity and what not these days." He rolls his eyes, rubbing the paper towel across his face and hands before tossing it into the trash. When he turns around, Lydia is hovering a few inches from his face with a sickeningly sweet smile that is rubbing him the wrong way. "But yes, I'm aware of all the gender issues with being in here, but I just couldn't help myself, Stiles. I needed to come and congratulate the newest Lacrosse star. Did you know, that you're all anyone could talk about at the game?" She bats her thick, tawny lashes in a look that he is sure is supposed to be coy, but instead just seems overdone and almost like a pantomime action. 

"Uhm .. good for them?" He questions almost absently, trying to calculate the easiest way to get past her and to the door before this Bizarro world crap continues. She simpers at him, reaching up to flick her hair over her shoulder and it takes almost all of his willpower not to roll his eyes at her. 

"Well, good for a lot of people, I'm sure." She takes a step forward and Stiles nearly stumbles back into the rubbish bin when she makes a move to kiss him. He flails, manages to shove his hand up, between them, in just enough time for her lips to collide with his palm. He can feel the thick, almost waxy press of lipstick smearing against his skin and he wonders at the fact that it makes him feel a little sick to his stomach. Lydia jerks back, as if his hand had slapped her rather than just intercepted her unwanted smooch. Her eyes are wide, murderous even, as she stares him down.

"Oh wow .. my god .. you .. you are -not- turning me down! Especially .. _god_ , especially not for _**HIM**_!" She practically growls the words venomously, and he is so not okay with this! He uses her moment of confusion to grab more paper towel, shoving it against his palm to rub her disgusting lipstick away even as he dodges past her to wrench the door open and hurry out. She follows quickly on his heels, still seething with rage at the fact that she was turned down by someone she sees as a loser! 

"God, get -over- yourself, little girl!" He snipes, not below using her height and behavior all in one! He is stomping toward their table, seething as well, though he is managing to hide it better than she is. She's practically vibrating with her wrath at his rejection, and he could -really- care less.

"Don't .. how dare .... you sniveling little peon! I am offering you something anyone in that pathetic cesspool of social refuse would -jump- at the chance for, and YOU are turning ME down!?" She hisses, her hands working in and out of fists as she stares him down. He whirls on her then, growling darkly.

"Yes! Yes, I am! I don't -want- you, and what you just snuck into the mens room to do, that constitutes as a BAD TOUCH, because I don't want your overworked lips -anywhere- near me!" He snarls the words out, rubbing his palm against his hip, still trying to wipe her touch away. It's a surprise to him, to say the least, the fact that he is reacting this way when just a few weeks ago, he had been absolutely desperate for her to notice him, let alone her -wanting- to plant a kiss on his lips. But now? Now, all he sees is a shallow bitch of a girl that will do anything to be #1 on the social hierarchy of school, no matter who she has to use or hurt to get there. And he is totally -not- cool with that! He and Jackson may have -just- started some kind of shaky truce, but even if they hadn't, he'd say that not even that jackhole deserved a two-timing fake like that! Oh God .. he .. he's feeling angry on -Jackson's behalf!- Somewhere, Angels are weeping, Hell is experiencing a blizzard, and Batman is clutching at his heart. Because this is beyond too much.

".. Stilinski?" Stiles jumps in surprise at the ire that he hears in Jackson's voice. He spins to see all of their friends standing there, eyes wide in confusion. Except for Derek. He looks livid! Absolutely -shaking- with rage, and Stiles kinda, -really- wants to walk over and tip himself into his arms. Because he knows that he would feel safe and secure there. However, before he can do anything, Lydia has pushed past him and thrown herself at Jackson. On instinct, the jock wraps her up in his arms, but his eyes are still on Stiles. 

"J-Jackson." Lydia sniffles, tears already flowing down her face as she clings to her boyfriend. "I was coming out of the bathroom, and he grabbed me, and he --" She sniffles again, and Stiles is seriously considering slapping her. Hard. Several times in a row! However, he never gets the chance because Derek is beside him in a flash. 

"Don't -even- start lying, Lydia. If -Stiles- grabbed -you- and forced a kiss on -you-, then explain this?" Derek grabs Stiles by the wrist, all delicate and gentle and damn it, Stiles sort of melts into Derek's side a little bit as the older teen holds his hand up, palm out. Where her horrible, expensive lipstick still stains his palm a little. "Cause I'm pretty sure there's no reason in hell that he would force your -lips- against his -palm- if he was trying to take advantage in any way." Derek is practically growling the words now, and a whimper escapes Stiles before he can force the sound back down. The reactions are manifold and so immediate, that he nearly feels as if he's going to vibrate in every direction. 

First, Jackson actually -snarls-, which is enough to make Danny and Scott take a step back, away from the impending confrontation. Stiles has only a moment to marvel at his best friend when, on instinct, he pushes the bigger, stronger, more muscled Danny behind him as if he's going to protect him. 

At the same time, Lydia tries to cling harder to Jackson. 

Derek loops one strong, impossibly protective arm around Stiles' waist and pushes. Placing Stiles directly behind him, almost mirroring Danny and Scott. With the added exception that Stiles immediately pulls his arms up, pressing them between his chest and the heavy, comforting weight of Derek's back. At the exact same moment, he pretty much shoves his face into the nape of Derek's neck because he's more than a little terrified of what's about to happen. 

"Get. Off. OF me!" Jackson barely manages not to shove Lydia away violently, looking between his best friend and his teammates. Lydia yelps in surprise, tripping over herself as she looks on in confusion.

"I ... what? Jackson! You .. you -know- me." She huffs a half strangled breath, eyes widening in surprise when Jackson steps closer to the other teens, putting his back to her. 

"Yeah. You're right, I do, Lydia." He looks to where Scott, a guy he has treated like sputum he couldn't quite cough up, is -protecting- his best friend. Glances to where Stiles, the guy he has -just- apologized to for every thing bad that he did to him, who had never started their altercations, practically cowering behind Derek and it's worse than a punch to the gut. Because he gets it. Stiles is completely terrified that Jackson is going to take this all out on him and he wouldn't really be able to blame him for that assumption. After all, when he has ever -not- taken something out on Stiles, -especially- when it's not actually his fault?? "I know you. I know that you probably followed him to the bathroom and -threw- yourself at him, because there's even a -fraction- of a chance he's going to do better than me on the field. Hell, you probably would've tried Derek but he's too smart for that. And I'm not -even- surprised Stiles is smart enough to stay the hell away from you. Because he's smarter than all of us." 

Before Jackson can say anything else, an arm sneaks out from around Derek's body. Stiles hand has buried itself in Jackson's shirt sleeve, and with an almighty tug, the jock finds himself pressed against Derek and Stiles' sides, huddling into them like a lost puppy. Lydia scoffs. A high, strained, royally pissed sound. She's looking between each boy, trying to decide who's eyes she's going to claw out first when she hears a throat clear. She turns on her heels, hands hooked like savage claws when she comes face to face with a woman a few years older than her. Who looks both intimidating and angry beyond words.

"Look. I really don't care what's going on here, but you have two options, girlie. First off, you can get the hell out of this restaurant, because you are bothering -everyone-, and NOT just those nice boys behind you." The woman takes a step closer, and Derek really has to respect her, because she smells of an almost paternal fierceness that he is confused about, and there is also a wild gleam in her eye. Like she's just -waiting- for Lydia to give her a reason to do something. "Secondly, and this is my -personal- favorite. You can stand there, continue wearing stupid like a fashion accessory, and I can call John. The Sheriff. Because that boy back there? The one you did whatever bad thing to? The one -cowering- when he's just out trying to have a good time with his friends? I am one of -three- living people that knows that boys -real- name."

"Love you, Marta!" Stiles calls out with a wobbly, trembling voice and Derek is fighting a wave of jealous. Because what the hell!? This woman knows STILES REAL NAME, when even HE doesn't!? He will take the proper time to lament this fact, and beg Stiles to rectify it, when he has the chance. For now, his arm shifts. Moves so that it is wrapped around Stiles and Jackson now, keeping them protected beside and behind him. 

"So, give me a reason. Give me a single reason to call up John and ask him to throw your ass in jail for whatever harassment is happening here. I dare you." Her lips purse into a feral smile that would be all elongated canines if she were a werewolf, and damn, but did Stiles have a way of attracting the oddest people? Slowly, Lydia seems to straighten. To pull herself up to her full height, tugging at the hem of her dress before turning to face Jackson with a cold, calculating smile.

"Right, then. I will call someone for a ride. Don't worry, Jackson. I will be magnanimously accepting of your apology come Monday."

She turns on her heel and storms from the restaurant, cellphone at the ready.

"Wow ... that ... is it always this dramatic?" The five teen boys whirl around to face a wide-eyed, open mouthed Allison and Stiles totally wants to kick himself for forgetting that she was there. He presses a little on Derek's back so that he is peeking up, over his friend's shoulder. Jackson's hand finds the curve of Stiles shirt and latches on tightly, even as Stiles offers a wide-eyed, sheepish smile to the girl.

"God, we are totally going to hell for forgetting you were there! I am SO sorry, Allison. Honestly. This is, like, not something that usually happens. At least, not that I'm really aware of? Because, I mean, it should be -painfully- honest that these freaking Godlings and the once thought to be strawberry blond Goddess do not often grace the presence of us mere mortals or anything." Jackson snorts into Stiles shoulder, Derek huffs a fondly annoyed breath, Danny rolls his eyes with a dimpled smile and Scott just nods right along with Stiles because he knows the score. Stiles is right, these people would never usually acknowledge them! "Maybe that's why it happens? Like, the peasants tempted fate or something? I don't even -know- at this point."

"Stiles! Do -not- make me call you by your real name in the middle of this restaurant!" Marta's voice makes him jump, his head instinctively disappearing behind Derek's shoulder again as he presses himself against his friend. Derek's trying really, -really- hard not to Wolf out at the fell of Stiles pressed all warm and solid against his back.

"Right! Sorry, Marta. My bad."

"You seem like more than a peon to me, Stiles. Maybe a demi-god?" Even if the words had any type of serious tone to them, Stiles would have instantly adopted Allison for that level of awesomeness. It helps that she actually sounds thoughtful as she says it.

"Oh wow. Wow. I was, like, -never- prepared for this day, Allison. You have to believe me!" Stiles huffs a deep breath, tip toes up to stare at her with his wide bambi eyes again. "So, yeah .. Imma just go ahead and say this! For that level of -awesome-, I would be proposing marriage on the spot! However, I may or may not be engaged in a marriage contract to a member of Derek's family because of awesome cooking skills, so I'm just gonna have to sigh and swoon like a bodice-ripper heroine from back here. But you totally have a piece of my heart, girl!"

"What the hell, Stiles!? Am I like, even -on- your list any more? First Danny, then Lydia, now one of Derek's family? Really feeling the love here, bro!" Scott whines, arms crossing mulishly over his chest as he glares at his best friend.

"Hey! How do -I- not make that list!?" Jackson demands from the crook of Stiles' shoulder even as Danny's eyes go wide and his cheeks warm in a blush.

"I .. seriously, Stiles? -Now- I find out .. could've .. but Scott .." Danny is grumbling and stumbling over his words, finally managing to pull away from Scott's protective stance.

"Stiles Stilinski! That is -way- more about your love live than I -ever- needed to know!"

"Sorry Marta! Still love you, though!" He cackles from behind Derek, Jackson snorting before he finally manages to pry himself away from the two guys. Instead, he turns and b-lines for Danny, sinking into the hand that comes up to squeeze his shoulder.

"So! How about we all sit down, eat sickening amounts of unhealthy food, and try to salvage this evening?" Allison bats her lashes at everyone present and they all give goodnatured, if not slightly exhausted laughs before they head back to their booth. This time, Stiles ends up wedged firmly between Derek and Jackson, with Scott between Danny and Allison.

* * *

Okay, so Stiles is really dreading Monday, despite the fact that he has spent all weekend texting Danny, Scott, Derek, Jackson, and Allison. Even Marta had sent him a few are you okay texts that he had answered as honestly as he could. However, he is still tied up in unsteady little knots over the different possibilities the day can yield. Will Jackson be stupid enough to take Lydia back? Will Allison decide to choose her in all of this, despite having been friendly with them all weekend? Will the tentative connections implode under the scrutiny of high school??? 

So many possibilities, and if he's honest, he knows the only one he -wants- to happen. He wants to get to school and see that entire group waiting for him, all bright. happy smiles and brand new, budding friendships. But how often does he get what he wants? He stops that thought immediately and re-tools it. Because that was -definitely- true ..... before. His Mom didn't get to stay, he and Scott got treated like dirt, and he never got to even first base with Lydia. But now?

He's a rising lacrosse star, as far as the gossip goes. He is acing -all- of his classes. He is friends with Derek Hale, and if he's somehow lucky, Jackson, Danny, and Allison to boot! He feels warmth slowly circulate through him and he wants to make so many disgustingly happy sounds, but he can't. He's barely managed to pull on jeans, shoes, and a tee shirt. He grabs up his backpack and manages to stumble out of his room and down the stairs.

"Be careful, son!" The Sheriff hollers from the kitchen, Stiles barely managing a grunt in acknowledgement as he yanks the door open and yelps, immediately flailing backward and falling flat on his ass. He stares up at a sleepy-eyed Jackson, hand posed to knock. He snorts drowsily and holds out the hand aimed at knocking to help Stiles back to his feet.

"God, you are completely klutzy and without grace outside of the goal, aren't you Stilinski?" Stiles starts to wince, flashbacks of Jackson's usual douchebaggery causing a muscle under his eye to jump and quiver. Jackson meanwhile, blinks slowly, realizing what's happened.

"Damn it .. fuck ... I'm sorry, Stiles. I didn't mean .. was gonna ... screwing up already." He's muttering to himself now, hand tight around the backpack strap over his shoulder as he stares somewhere in the vicinity of his feet. Stiles sucks in a breath, reaches out on a whim because he can never turn a good whim down, punches Jackson lightly on the shoulder. The other teen sucks in a surprised breath, eyes wide as saucers when he looks up on reflex to stare at Stiles. Who's wearing his usual bright as the sun smile.

"Yup! I'm a special kind of snowflake, Whittemore." He eases the door closed behind him, Jackson quick stepping backward to give him room. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your stellar company?" 

"God help me. HOW are you a morning person, damn it!?" Jackson huffs a put upon sigh and hooks his thumber over his shoulder, indicating his car parked next to Stiles' jeep. "Get in, loser." He mumbles before turning on his heel and stumbling toward the car. Stiles lifts a hand, shoves his fingers physically against his mouth to keep from snickering before he takes off after the teen, headed for the passenger side. He opens the door and peeks in, eyes widening when he sees .. holy hell! Scott and Danny are sitting on either side of Allison, who looks equal parts content and shy in the back seat. Stiles really just wants to eat her up with a spoon.

"Seriously. A piece of my heart, girl!" Stiles croons as he literally tumbles into the seat and carefully rights himself.

"Oh Stiles, you have a piece of mine too." She croons back and Stiles LIGHTS UP because this is just as golden as when Scott plays along! He yanks his seatbelt off and literally lunges into the backseat. Unfortunately, Scott is the only one who sees it coming and manages to get out of the way as Stiles gets his arms around Allison in an awkward hug that she returns with a full bodied giggle of glee.

"Seriously!? Asses in -seats-, Stilinski!" Jackson roars before the flat of his hand pops Stiles' left asscheek. He yelps and slithers back into the front, eyes wide.

"No! Bad touch! Dinner and a movie first, dude! No assplay until then!" He waggles his brows suggestively and Jackson blushes pure to his roots, Danny and Allison roaring in the back. Scott huffs out a breath and crosses his arms in front of himself. "Unless your Scott. Then all assplay is totally free."

"Thanks, Boo." Scott pouts, sniffling playfully. This simply serves to send Danny and Allison into such fits of hysterics, that they are practically folded against one another, clutching each other for balance and strength.

"Yeah, yeah, no assplay without curly fries. Shush and buckle up." Jackson makes a face as if he's just downed half a bottle of Jack followed by a pound of raw lemon, but no one misses the way his eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement.

"Oh god, can -everyone- please stop saying assplay! I'm pretty sure that we are going to have a dead Danny and Allison if this keeps up!" Scott's desperation brings the entire car to silence as Jackson drives them to school. He wheels into his usual parking spot at the curb, and gives Stiles a side-eye when he sees the other teen beginning to vibrate a little. Oh god, this is going to be good! He doesn't even have to know -what- Stiles is about to do, to know that it is going to be epic, probably send Danny and Allison into giggle fits again, and embarrass the HELL out of McCall. This, ladies and gentleman, is what we call a win-win situation! It is also, sadly, the main reason for his animosity toward Stiles for the majority of their shared lives. Jealousy, pure and simple. The fact that a kid that supposedly had inferior genes, upbringing, etc, could bring so many people to tears with simple humor, and the fact that he's one of the smartest people Jackson has ever met, despite having ADHD and struggling with the ability to focus. Deep down, no manner of good looks, possessions, and the money to buy as many friends as he could ever want, is enough to actually give him the kind of caring relationship that Scott and Stiles have. (And yes, okay, the fact that he always treated Scott -worse- than Stiles is sheer bad luck on Scott's part. He is fucking LUCKY enough to have a Stiles .. it basically left him screwed right from the start.)

Stiles and Jackson climb out, popping up the seats to let the other three teens out. And Stiles can barely keep in his snicker when even SCOTT chooses to go out the other door. So, he sucks in a deep breath, WINKS at Jackson, who blushes a little, and then cups his hands around his mouth.

He waits until Scott is headed toward the front doors of the school before he shouts almost at the top of his lungs.

"AW, COME ON, SCOTTY! I -SAID- YOU GET ALL MY ASSPLAY FOR FREE, BUDDY! YOU SHOULD BE -HAPPY-!" Poor Scott yelps and trips over his own feet. It's a miracle he manages to catch himself before he sprawls all over the sidewalk leading to the front doors. Meanwhile, Jackson, Danny, and Allison are doubled over, clutching each other as they laugh. Though, the entire group misses the most hilarious thing of all.

At the other end of the building, Derek had been trying to sneak into the school so that he wouldn't run into anyone he knew just yet. Unfortunately, the sudden shout of ASSPLAY by Stiles wrenches his attention away from his current mission. The thought that Scott is involved in that statement makes him want to pop his fangs and growl. However, his mind is pretty much stuck on the daydream of getting a handful of Stiles' ass, which is when he runs smack dab into the side of the brick building. The pain isn't the first thing that registers. Oh no! The thick, syrupy drop of sluggish blood down his lips and chin precedes the searing, burning pain of his broken nose. He whimpers. Slow and pained, hands folded against his ruined nose as it carefully knits back together. He looks around with wild, searching eyes, makes sure NO ONE saw that moment of utter embarrassment, and quickly ducks into the school and heads for the bathroom.

"God, Stiles!" Danny wheezes out, finally managing to right himself, grinning like a mad man at his friend. "The things that come out of your mouth!"

"Seriously! You should have to register your mouth as a deadly weapon, man." Jackson points that out though he can't actually look at Stiles when he says it, because he might be thinking about a few things Stiles could get up to with said mouth.

"Oh, man, I just can't, Stiles." Allison bats her lashes at him before they all turn and head toward the school building.

* * *

Stiles week goes by in a strange, unrealistic blur that keeps him on his toes. To have girls and guys that never even acknowledged him before suddenly flirting with him, or trying to be friendly, it kinda does his mind in. Every where he turns, someone is telling him how great he did in the game, how hot he looked all sweaty and exerted, etc. Though, strangely, the one thing that -hadn't- happened yet? He had been expecting a few offers for dates, but none have come. Despite the flirting and stuff, no one had tried to ask for coffee or pizza or anything and it leaves him wondering ... is he really just -that- disgusting? They can flirt, they can throw themselves in his path, but apparently he's just so annoying that they don't want any of his personal time. 

He's been doing every thing in his power to keep himself from getting depressed over the thought, but the longer the week goes on, the more he realizes that he's still got zero prospects for dates. 

The morning before the next game, he finds himself confiding in Scott about it. Because, you know, brother and all of that.

"Scott?" He drawls out, smiling faintly at his best friend. Scott glances around the classroom, making sure that no one is paying attention, before he scoots a little closer to Stiles so that they can talk without anyone eavesdropping.

"Whats up, man?"

Stiles glances around self consciously, licks his lips and bows his head a little closer to his best friend.

"I .. I need an honest, objective answer to something, okay?" The earnest look on Scott's features makes him want to cry a little, for so many reasons. Foremost being, he's pretty sure life outside of High School is going to chew his boy up and spit him out, because he's so good hearted and naive. But also, because he knows just how good a person Scott is, that he will be painfully honest. A part of him is terrified of that fact. Because Scott will not lie to make him feel better, not after being asked for an honest opinion. "There, uh ... there have been a lot of people flirting and hitting on me this week. Apparently, because of how I played the first game. But, the thing is .... they all flirt and stuff, but none of them will ask me out. I even tried alluding to the idea of getting a bite or some coffee with a few, and they acted weird and left." He shifts uncomfortably, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks as he looks around for a moment. "Scott .. am I ugly? Like, am I worth flirting with because of a good game, but too annoying to date?"

In truth, he's not really sure how he expected Scott to react. Well, part of him expected Scott to say something terrible, to lay out all of his worst fears and make them true. But instead, Scott crumples. He deflates, looks almost as if someone has punched all the happy right out of him. His arms shoot out and he yanks Stiles close into an almost bone crushing hug. 

"Oh, Stiles. Man, just .. just no, okay?" He murmurs the words into his best friend's shoulder, practically cuddling him in the middle of class. "God, -anyone- who thinks you're not good looking is fucking blind, man. And annoying? Not even! I love that you talk a lot, and that you have a joke for every thing. You've always been able to take the worst situation possible and reminded me that I have the greatest of friends with awesome jokes and the kind of sass that will give a deserving jackhole whiplash." Stiles giggles feather soft at that, nuzzling his cheek against Scott's shoulder. 

"Thanks, Scotty." He murmurs, pulling back in just enough time to blush when he realizes that half the class, sans teacher thank god, is looking at them. Huh. With expressions ranging from .. blissed out to .. jealous? Well, that totally makes sense. He knows that their epic bromance/friendship is a thing to be jealous of.

"Any time, Stiles. You know that." Scott beams sweetly at him before he turns back to pay attention in class. Or, at least to appear to be paying attention. In reality, his mind is running a mile a minute as he tries to decide the best way to cheer his friend up, as well as the best way to help him find a date. Even if he doesn't have the guts to ask the new girl out, he can at least help Stiles find someone, because his best friend -really- deserves to be happy! He huffs a breath and leans back in his seat, devoting the rest of the period to planning. Because this is -so- going to happen!

* * *

Derek is -not- sulking. Nor is he jealous, upset, pitiful, pathetic, or any thing else his mind keeps trying to call him. Because all of that would suggest that he -cares-! And he doesn't. Really. Not in the -least-. So what if stupid Stiles Stilinski and stupid Scott McCall are back together again? He had -known- it was going to happen. Stiles had even said that it was time he apologized, so of -course- the longest running, cutest couple to ever -couple- are going strong again. Why should he care? Just because they were seen practically cuddling in class or something. He. Doesn't. CARE!

There. Has he protested enough to make his own stupid mind understand that none of this is their concern?? Not his, his wolf's, or any part of him is the least bit concerned with who Stiles may or may not be dating. (Because he is totally dating Scott and how does he hold up to that stupid little puppy with his big eyes and blinding smile, in -any- way!? That is a competition he is pretty sure he will lose every time.)

"Oh wow! I mean, you actually got to see it!?" A loud, shrill, feminine voice drags Derek from his thoughts, head snapping around to spot a small group of four girls leaning against their lockers with dreamy looks and distant eyes. Yeah, he knows -exactly- where this is going and he wonders how long it would take him to heal if he shoved his head into his locker and banged the door across his temple repeatedly. 

"Totally! It was the most beautiful thing ever, Misty!" One of the girls has a nasily voice, sniffling and sighing over dramatically as she speaks. "The way they sat with their chairs pulled close together? And poor Stiles! There seemed to be something wrong, and Scott .. god, he just took him in his arms and made it all better!"

Okay, screw that. No. No, -fuck- that! He can feel his chest starting to vibrate, the sub-vocal growl beginning to build. He doesn't want to hear this. He really, really doesn't. Because unlike these freaky little harpies that could never get Stiles' time of day, -he- has to sit through it for real. Has to watch the two of them gravitate to each other like complimenting magnets, or planets that orbit each other endlessly. Has to -listen- to thier flirtatious declarations of love.

"God, if they weren't -perfect- for each other, I would totally try and get Stiles from him." One of the girl's practically purrs the words and that is -it-! Just no. As -if- some pining, pouty, whiny human female that has -just now- realized Stiles is worth noticing, could EVER be worthy of him!

"Are you freakin' KIDDING me!? None of you even knew who Stiles -was- until a week ago, and now you are actually deluded enough to think that what, you could win him away from someone who actually -loves- him!?" He's seething. Trembling with rage at the thought that such people would pray on Stiles' happiness for themselves. It pisses him off. He can feel the clawing of his feral nature at the underside of his skin and he wants to spill that ruthless wildness all over these interlopers! "I can't even." He slams his locker closed and stomps off in the direction of the cafeteria. 

He makes it two hallways over, eyes trained on the ground for fear that he's going to accidentally flash his beta yellow's at someone. Apparently, his senses are so dulled by his anger that everything changes in a blink. He goes from stomping toward freedom, to accidentally barreling into something. His eyes snap up in just enough time to watch Stiles rebound and sprawl across the room with a yelp.

"Stiles!? Oh. Sorry. I didn't. I mean. Damn it!" He practically lunges toward the teen, managing to swallow down a concerned whine as he helps his friend to his feet. Stiles is flush faced, lips slightly bit swollen and shiny red and it feels like ... it feels like someone has kicked his stomach in in prelude to ripping his heart out. Because his first thought is that Stiles looks thoroughly mouth-fucked. As if someone has debauched him with nothing more than kissing and it hurts. Okay? It hurts so much! The second he is sure that Stiles is stable, he rips himself away from the other teen. 

"Nah, it's cool, Der." Stiles grins at him and it makes his stomach do this complicated combination of back flips and somersaults that makes him feel a little weak in the knees. "Oh! Derek!" Stiles seems to brighten beautifully. Practically illuminating with happiness when he realizes that it is indeed Derek he just ran into. He even does this unbelievably adorable shuffle from foot to foot that is so ridiculously endearing, Derek's heart swells a little bit and his breathing has become a strange, uneven thing. "You are -exactly- who I am looking for, man." He quickly negotiates his backpack off his shoulder and fumbles to yank the zipper open. He draws out a surprisingly pink tupperware container that makes Derek lift a brow. But, the moment that Stiles holds it out to him, he pounces on it and yanks it close. His nostrils flare subtly and his mouth starts watering immediately. The scent of white chocolate, cream, and peanut butter makes him whine softly in the back of his throat.

"This .. is for me?" He finds that he needs to double check even as he is wrestling the lid off to reveal the perfectly cut squares of Tiger Butter. Stiles nods enthusiastically, shyly smiling at him and Derek really just doesn't know how he should react.

"Yup! It's been nearly, uhm, a few years since I made some, so I hope I haven't lost my touch." Stiles actually scuffs his sneakered foot across the floor and Derek is only 'human' as the saying goes, even if he's actually a werewolf. So, he reaches out with his free arm to wrap Stiles in a semi-hug and presses his face sloppily against the curve of the human's neck when Stiles manages to get both arms around him and quickly pull him in closer. 

Okay, so the scent of Stiles is even better than the Tiger Butter. Somehow ... more intoxicating, more salivating. He wants to bite and lick at his neck, but manages to rein his instincts in and pull away. With all of the reluctance he has in him.

"God, I'm sure it's perfect, Stiles." He blurts the words out carelessly as he snags one of the squares and doesn't even have the good grace to take a bite. He folds the whole piece into his mouth instead, teeth sinking through the gooey deliciousness. "So freakin' good, Stiles. Thanks." His words are a muffled whimper as he savors the sweet treat, finally managing to swallow the melty goodness down before he reaches for a second piece. "I cannot bake or make sweets to save my life." His ears pinken at the admission before he folds the second piece into his mouth and manages to rely on his better judgement for once, closing the container for now. It simply wouldn't do to scarf the entire container of sweets down in front of the human, after all.

"Wow! I'm glad you like them, man. I figured .. it's one of my favorites, so I'd make you some after all the delicious stuff you brought me." Derek nearly drops the container at those words. Wait, did that mean Stiles only made it -for him-!? Like, meaning that even -McCall- didn't get any? He tries so hard not to preen, barely managing to remain sort of stoic as he glances down at the tupperware.

"You didn't have to do that, Stiles, but thanks. Because it really is good. One of my favorites, too." He reaches out almost blindly, managing to sling an arm around the teen in a half hug. And once again, he feels the weight of Stiles' arms in the full hug and he melts into it as best he can without appearing to do so. 

"You're right, Derek, I didn't -have- to, I -wanted- to, dude." Stiles rolls his eyes playfully once they've separated, turning to fall into step next to his friend as they head for the doors.

"Stilinski! Hale!" Coach Finstock's voice causes them both to jump in surprise, eyes wide as the coach barells toward them. "Good! I've been looking for you both. So. The Halloween Festival. Stilinski, you're manning the booth for the open and closing shift. Hale. You're working the crowd, making sure that every one wants to hit up the booth. Got it? Good. Go!" He pushes between them, shoves the door open, and heads outside before they can question what he's on about. Eerily in sync, they shrug their shoulders and head outside as well.

* * *

"Stiles!" Jackson's voice somehow manages to reach the teen over the din of the cafeteria. He looks up in enough time to see Jackson, Danny, and Scott walking toward him. Jackson is around the table before any of the other teens can react, snagging Stiles' empty right side. Scott glances between Jackson and Derek at Stiles' left side, seeming to expect something. When both teens ignore him, he huffs angrily and sits in front of his best friend, instead. Danny sits to Scott's left. "I gotta say, I'm -really- impressed, Stiles! Coach just told us that you agreed to take the opening -and- closing shift for the Lacrosse booth. Seriously, kudos, man." Jackson lightly knocks his shoulder into the other teen, making Stiles yelp, but it's playful.

"Yeah. About that. What the hell, man? He ran up to me and Derek right before lunch, said I had the shifts for some booth of some sort, and that Derek was tasked with drumming up business. Didn't bother telling us what the booth was or anything. So! What is it this year? Dunking booth? Because I'm sure -hundreds- of Beacon Hills citizens would -love- the chance to get me wet." Everyone at the table misses the way that both Danny and Derek whimper ever so softly at those words. "Oh god! Please don't let it be a hayride! I went on the hayride last year, and fifteen different people accidentally groped my ass. It was awkward and embarrassing!" He huffs a breath, and this time, Scott glances at Danny strangely when he and Derek whimper a little louder. 

"Totally weren't accidents." Jackson mutters under his breath in amusement, and Derek glares at him. Had Jackson been one of those gropers? Because Derek will -happily- remove any offending hand from his personage. In less than two seconds. Secret be DAMNED!

"God! And not the cake walk thing, either. Last year, when we did that for Ms. Thomas' class, I had to be the caller. Everyone kept making jokes about how they could shut me up with faces full of cake. Well, actually about half of them just kept alluding to shutting me up, or something about another way to use my mouth? Anyway! I ended up eating way too many cupcakes and was licking frosting off my fingers for half the night." Scott is cracking up in gentle waves of laughter, and Stiles glances to his right when Jackson's fork clatters against his tray. His eyes are large and kinda glazed looking as he stares somewhere over Danny's shoulder. Stiles is pretty sure that he had heard a whining sound on either side of him, but he's ignoring it.

He's too preoccupied with studying Jackson to realize that Danny and Derek are both sneaking wanton glances at his mouth.

"The things people say to you, Stiles." Scott giggles goodnaturedly and it pisses Derek off even more. How in the hell can McCall be so okay with people hitting on and groping his boyfriend!? Because honestly .. no matter how much he -wants- to be, he's not even -dating- Stiles and he wants to tear some people up for taking such liberties. His hands tighten on the tupperware container in front of him, scowling as he stares down at the thing. After a moment, he manages to open it and grab a piece out. Morosely nibbling at it. "But no, it's nothing like that, man! Coach was talking to himself about booth ideas and I told him we should totally do a kissing booth! He -jumped- on that idea and I suggested that you should open and close the booth since everyone is falling all over themselves to talk to you." 

The entire table goes quiet. Danny, Derek, and Stiles because they had no clue that it was a -kissing booth-. Jackson, because he cannot understand how McCall is being so cavalier about his boyfriend kissing hundreds of strangers, let alone the fact that it was his idea in the first place! He really, -really- wants to reach across the table and smack that stupidly happy smile off the face of his teammate.

"I .. wha --- Scott!?" Stiles words are hoarse and squeaky, and Derek just can't help it. He reaches under the table, his palm landing gently on Stiles' knee to try and help center and calm him. Because he of all people understands the need for a good anchor in an emotional situation. "How the -hell- could you suggest something like that? I am -not- kissing a bunch of strangers!" When Stiles whimpers at the end of his words, Derek very nearly wolfs out. In fact, he quickly looks away and even starts to pull his hand off of Stiles. But the second he feels the other teen place a hand on his, essentially trapping it against his knee, he feels his wolf immediately recede. Huh. That's ... new ... a little disconcerting ...

"But ... I ... I thought .." Scott pouts. A plush purse of his lips as he looks at his best friend, seeming confused about the entire situation. "I was trying to help, Stiles. I -- wait!" Scott's eyes narrow and he suddenly rounds his angry gaze on Derek. Or, more accurately, the container open in front of him. "Hey! You made Tiger Butter!? Why didn't I get any, Stiles? You passed my last three birthdays without making any for me." His pout seems to triple and Derek really wants to gauge out his eyes, rip his jaw off! He huffs in a breath, instead, turning to look at Stiles.

And yup, there it is. That deeply pained look that is a combination of betrayal and confusion. So much anguish, that Derek is practically choking on it. He is struggling to concentrate on his friend, rather than daydream about all of the ways he can dismember McCall and then the various places he could hide the pieces in The Preserve.

"Right .. uhm .. wow. So, I ask you something, in -confidence-, and you, what ... go out and do this!? And then get pissed because I didn't bake for you?" Stiles pushes himself to his feet, leaving his tray sitting there. Jackson, Danny, and Derek all jump up and go chasing after their friend. Leaving Scott staring in confusion at the empty seats. Trying to understand how he had messed up so bad. Because it is obvious, this time, that he had managed to do something wrong, but he's not sure -what-. Or, at least, he's not sure how what he did is wrong.

* * *

Stiles had rushed off to head to class early, and even though Derek could've followed his friend easily given his werewolf strength and what not, he had been forced to run at a somewhat sedate pace. Been forced to watch him leave all three of them in the dust. 

Feeling lost in an awkward balance between anger and pain, he turns and abandons his two friends in favor of trying to make this better. Sure, he could sniff Stiles out. Track him down and talk to his friend in the hopes of pulling him out of this funk, but ... what would be the point? The problem would still exist, unresolved. 

This leaves him in a bit of a quandary. How can he help save his friend from a situation that is obviously too much for him to handle? He bites at his bottom lip, glad that he had manage to keep his fangs at bay this time. His levels of agitation are tempting his control and it's technically all because of Stiles. Maybe he should just .. get over this?

For one long, unfathomable moment, he entertains the idea of doing just that! Of putting all thoughts of Stiles out of his mind and forgetting this odd attraction he has to the human. However, he barely has half a minute of this consideration when his chest tightens and aches. A deep, thorough ache that convinces him that letting go isn't really in the cards. Sure, Stiles has a chance at being a rising lacrosse star, is one of the smartest kids in the entire -school- despite being a Freshman, is beautiful in this ethereal, odd, but still unattainable way, and is one half of the cutest couple to ever couple. (Even if Derek is 100% sure that it's nothing more than a toxic relationship.) Despite all of that, there's this part of the werewolf that thinks ... he could be -so good- for Stiles! He could help build him up, when it seems Scott just inadvertently tears him down. He could help the human understand just how wonderfully special he is! 

He can feel his wolf vibrating under his skin. It had taken him several years to find his sense of control. Even Full Moons have become an easy affair when in the presence of his family. It has been half a year since his last moment of lost control at school, but these last few weeks have been a strange, backset trial of overwhelmed instincts. Even so .. he just cannot imagine moving backward. Giving up the weird friendship he has been cultivating with Stilinski. 

So, how can he fix this? The solution is immediate and overwhelming. For one moment, he forgets how to breathe. His nose, his lungs, even his brain doesn't seem to want to work. Because the solution is both obvious .. and terrible. His wolf whines somewhere in the back of his mind, scratching under his skin because he's a little terrified. How the hell is he going to survive this, without causing irreversible trauma to his wild side?

".. I am so sorry." He exhales the words on a trembled breath, scrubbing his hands down his face before he turns and takes off at a dead run for Coach's office.

* * *

"I just don't understand why all of this is such a big deal ... yes, cupcake. That is correct! Why is that -- Hale! What the hell are you doing here?" Coach Finstock jerks up from the half lean he had been accomplishing over the top of his desk. "Gotta go!" He grunts the words even as he ends his call, sharp eyes narrowed at his student as he waits for some explanation. 

"We need to talk, Coach." Derek glances around the office for a moment, a little leery of this entire thing. He settles on the very edge of the chair in front of the desk, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he watches the older man.

"Seriously, Hale? I had you pegged for a minimalist vocabulary and you suddenly want to talk? In the middle of the only lunch break either of us gets today? This better be damn important, kid." The Coach pushes himself backward, so that he's fully seated in his chair as he stares down his nose at the teen. Who can't help but scowl a little bit, because it doesn't really make much sense to him. How the hell a guy like -this- landed a teaching job! He clears his throat, scowl growing a little deeper when he notices the note of unease entering the adult's scent.

"It is, Coach. It's about Stiles." The note of unease slowly bleeds away to be replaced by the almost cinnamon scent of concern. For some reason, concern always smells like cinnamon to him. His Alpha once said that it had to do with the fact that he considers concern to be a familial emotion. Connected to family and Pack, thus it has a homey scent. "When you talked to us earlier, neither of us knew what this Booth stuff was, Coach. McCall -just- explained it to us, and basically ... Stiles freaked out. He -really- doesn't want to have to do this, he --"

"Look, I get it! He's a good kid, surprisingly shy for how much he's so outgoing. I get it. I do. But every one is going to pay a -fortune- to kiss Stilinski. So, unless you got someone to replace him --"

"Me. I've been hit on by every girl and almost a third of the guys in this town, Coach. Stiles does -not- want to do this, so I will. He can drum up business. If -anyone- can talk people into swinging by our Booth, it'll be him." He's trembling inside. He feels shaky, a little feverish and kinda lightheaded. Because his wolf does -not- agree with this. And yet ... and -yet-, his wild side finds itself bowing down. Baring its throat to the human side because this .. -this- will save their Stiles. This will take that sucking sour note out of their human's scent, and for that, the wolf will back down. Bow.

"Hmm." The noncommittal noise does nothing to tell the werewolf what the coach is feeling, nor does his scent. In some strange turn of events, the human has gone so completely still that his senses cannot read -anything-. Clean scent, silent, unmoving ... Derek huffs a breath and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Alright, Hale. I don't want Stilinski thinking he has to do anything he don't want. So, you're opening and closing shifts. Opening with Danny, closing with McCall." Derek feels his stomach churn in surprise. The holy hell!? Not only had Scott apparently -volunteered- his boyfriend for this, but he's also doing it himself? He fights down the wave of nauseated anger, thankfully human nails digging into the seam of his jeans. "The middle shifts are Allison Argent and Jackson Whittemore, followed by Jessica and Heather Moore." Coach murmurs the lists more to himself than anything, before giving a faint nod of his head. "Alright. It's settled. Stilinski is out, you're in." He reaches over to grab his phone, changing something on his memo before he outright glares at him.

"Thank you, Coach." Derek forces himself to his feet, ready to flee from the office. The moment he's outside, he tips his head back. He doesn't even -try- to be subtle, gently scenting the air in search of his friend, and surprisingly, it doesn't take long. He takes off toward the main building, heading toward an empty classroom. It used to be an AP class, but the teacher quit early the year before. Some kind of mental breakdown. He can barely remember. It hadn't concerned him, so he hadn't paid much attention. He follows the unique, delicious scent of his friend to the classroom, his hand sliding up to rest on the doorknob. He glances around the hall, making sure that there's no one else around, before he closes his eyes and allows himself to concentrate on his hearing. Slowly, it balloons outward, becoming more and more intense until he can hear Stiles on the other side of the door.

It starts simple. The scuff of shoes across the ground as he paces. The rustle of clothes that denotes the same. Then, there's the breathing. A slight quiver in each inhale, a faint wet wheeze in each exhale. He sounds like he's on the verge of crying and that nearly kills something deep inside of Derek.

"Stiles!" He growls the name even as he wrenches the door open and quickly heads inside. The human jumps and flails, nearly tripping over the flat ground though he manages to right himself. "Are you alright??" There's the same level of urgent concern in his voice as there had been on the field during practice, when he realized that Stiles was hurt. He tries to swallow down his worries, but it's just so damn -hard- where the human is concerned. He's been worrying about him since the first time he saw the poor teen step foot on Campus his first day. Since that moment, there's been this weird feeling of .. of protective -need- in the werewolf. He wants Stiles happy, safe, and sound. And after what he's just done .. after putting himself in a situation that has his wolf wanting to rebel, it has become stunningly obvious that he is willing to do -anything- to make sure that Stiles will always be happy, safe, and sound.

"D-Derek??" He huffs nervously, scuffing his foot across the floor before he turns and moves back toward a desk that has his backpack thrown on top of it. He reaches out to fiddle with the strap of his bag, not looking up at his friend. "What are you doing here? How did you find me? What do you want?" The questions are a rapid, quick-fire interrogation and it should be twisted and -weird- that Derek finds that endearing as all hell, but it's not. Because this is -Stiles-. The very essence of him.

"Looking for you ... followed my nose ... I talked to coach, and I wanted to tell you .. you're not on shift anymore, Stiles." He goes silent then, shuffling into the room and closing the door behind him. He leans against it for now, arms crossed over his chest. It's a subconscious decision to block the human from retreating. He will make sure that he is heard .. make sure that Stiles knows -he- did this for him ... while -Scott- is the one that got him into this situation in the first place. 

He watches, stare intense but hooded, as Stiles processes every thing that has been said. The emotions play out like a storybook across his beautiful, soft features. Confusion, disbelief, surprise, avid shock, and then HOPE. That four letter word burns like a brand in those expressive, intelligent amber eyes and it makes Derek feel warm and tingly all over. 

"I .. you .. how!? We -both- heard him, Derek. He's freakin' gung-ho on me working that stupid fucking kissing booth! And Scott! Oh-ho, don't -even- get me -started- on him! How the hell could he think it would be a good idea to do this?? I mean .. he .. he -knows- me, Derek, or at least, he's supposed to. I told him .. or, or I mean, I asked him, and then he goes and does this ... what happened?" The more he talks, the more he shuts down and it's breaking Derek's heart. Stiles is supposed to be this annoyingly awesome streak of never ending, never silent energy that makes every thing better and brighter just by existing. But at the moment? He's some kind of dimmed hollow and it's hurting Derek. Deeply.

"Just .. you're not on shift anymore, Stiles. Okay? Coach agreed to move you to working the crowd, so you don't have to do any shifts." He really doesn't want to tell Stiles that -he's- now in the booth, though he cannot fathom why. "What did you ask Scott? Maybe I can help?" PLEASE let me help you, Stiles! The human teen seems to draw a little deeper into himself, staring off into the distance before he flings himself so violently into the seat that Derek visibly winces in sympathy. Is the little fool -trying- to hurt himself!?

"Uhm. I don't really think .. I mean, I'm not sure it's something you could help?" The words come out as a question, and Derek feels another swell of affection. He would love to kiss Stiles right about now. Kiss the silly questions and pain right out of the human, but even he isn't so socially awkward as not to understand that it would be a bad idea. One does not simply kiss their friend to make them feel better. Or maybe girls did? They seemed inherently more intimate (and cruel) in their friendships. He has seen Laura curled up in her female friend's lap, watched as she planted a kiss on her, and then look at him as if he were -crazy- when he asked if they were involved. 

"I can at least -try-, Stiles. Please?" Yeah, that last word was never supposed to leave his mouth, but it's out now. Nothing to be done for it.

"Right. Okay." He squirms and wiggles until he's righted himself in his seat. He tugs his bag forward and fluffs it. He pillows his arms across it, laying his chin on his crossed arms as he stares across the distance at Derek. "Right. So. I, uh .. I talked to Scott. About the stuff that's been happening lately. Since the game, everyone's been talking and flirting with me, but ... I mean, it's been weird?" He frowns, drops his gaze to regard his backpack under him for a moment. It's so unusual, seeing Stiles struggle for words. It's foreign and wrong. "In the end, I had to ask him .. if I'm ugly .. or just, you know, too annoying for anyone to want to date?" It's another question that doesn't make any sense and it cuts Derek to the quick.

How the fuck does a creature like this .. who's eyes shine like the fucking SUN has been captured and placed there, who glows with an inner beauty to rival that of the MOON ... how does a creature like this question his own worth?!? And who in the hell allowed him to get to the point where he -can- question it? He sucks in a breath if only to keep himself from snarling something cruel and unhelpful. Not cruel to Stiles, but probably cruel to Scott. And every other student at Beacon Hills that has only just -now- managed to give a damn about a boy worth a thousand of each of them. 

"God, Stiles .. how ... I don't even understand how you could -ask- those kinds of things!" The door no longer feels sturdy. Or maybe his legs are just weak and shaky? Either way, he presses roughly back, against the door, allowing himself to slide down it until he can hug his legs to his chest. He doesn't have words, damn it. Not for this. -Never- for something like this. "No. You are -not- ugly, have -never- been ugly! Fuck, man, I don't care how many people are paying attention to you now, I've noticed you since the middle of summer. You are -not- ugly. Not fucking -annoying-, either. You're funny as hell, and you -care- about people, Stiles. You watch out for Scott, despite the way he keeps treating you, and you even made me Tiger Butter. You're perfect, just the way you are. If -anyone- says other wise, point those assholes in my direction and I'll stomp them into the ground!" He huffs a tired, angry breath, shivering as it stirs his bangs against his forehead. 

When he finally manages to quell a bit of his wrath and look up, he jerks back hard enough that he sees a few stars when the back of his head connects with the hardwood of the door. He grunts in surprise, the pain gone almost immediately. Not that he cares. Because Stiles is staring at him. No, more than that. His gaze is so intent, you'd think he could look right through Derek and -see- all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He's also looking at the older teen as if Derek has hung the moon in Stiles' honor, and his honor alone. 

The werewolf's throat clicks as he dryly swallows, forced to avert his eyes from the amount of sheer emotion pouring off the human. Bewilderment, anger, confusion, hope, happiness, sorrow, and so much acute, moldy-moss sadness that Derek sneezes from it. 

"Bless you." Stiles whispers the words before he gives himself a full bodied shake that causes the desk to squeak a little. "And -not- just for the sneeze. No one ... Derek, -no one- has ever said that kind of stuff about me." Stiles' cheeks have erupted in hues of red, his ears pinked lightly, and he has managed to push himself up as straight as he can get. 

Derek can feel himself blushing under the intense scrutiny and he is suddenly panicking. He's said too much. Stiles is with someone else, even if he might not be happy. It's not fair of him to harbor feelings for him! Not fair of him to want to come between them. He quickly pushes up to his feet, teetering on the edge of falling over before he fully rights himself.

"It's the truth, Stiles. I just wanted you to know about the booth. See ya around." He yanks the door open and practically runs down the hallway on his way to his next class, basically desperate to get away from the human while he tries to get his head on straight.

* * *

Stiles stares silently down at his phone. This has been one hell of a day, but his talk with Derek has managed to lift his spirits a bit. He's not as mad at Scott as he was, originally. Deep down, he knows his best friend had just been trying to help him. He -knows- that, but it still didn't feel right. Sometimes, Scott just gets blinded by his desire to help and forgets that there are consequences to his decisions.

"Hey, girlfriend." He jerks to attention, eyes partially glazed as he takes in the approach of Allison. In the crush of everything, he had forgotten that they have their last period together.

"Hey, bro!" He calls out on instinct, causing them both to giggle happily. On a whimsical instinct, he reaches out to take Allison's books, cradling them to his chest as they turn and head toward class.

"So tell me, Stiles .. is the little pockets of gossip I've come across true?" Allison has a way of butting in, of questioning where she has no right to, that is somehow stupidly endearing. Because it's obvious by her wide, brimming eyes and the concerned curve of her mouth, that it all comes from a good place. Huh. Kinda like when Scott inevitably butts in because he cares. A dozen different thoughts begin to flit and whir through his mind, though he's making sure to keep the majority of his multitasking focused on his new friend. 

"I .. dunno? I mean, I'd need to know what the pockets were, to be able to confirm or deny." His sheepish smile melts her a little and she reaches out to carefully thread her arm through his as they step into the classroom.

"Well, for starters; I hear that you're taking shifts in the kissing booth? Because I am -there- Stiles. I need to see how well that snark has honed your skills." Stiles snorts beautifully, shaking his head at what he assumes is a joke. Not realizing that, despite the playful delivery, she's being dead serious. 

"I already told you, Allison. You -totally- have a piece of my heart, girl. So just say the word, and you can take these babies for a test drive." He puckers his lips in an exaggerated way, causing her to laugh and hip-check him before he deposits her books on her desk and takes his seat behind her. "But yeah, in all seriousness .. no. I was originally signed up for the booth without my knowledge. But, Derek did something and got me out of it, so it's all good." He flashes her a tired smile and she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder before she turns around to face the front of the class. 

"Well, that's good, at least. I mean, that he managed to get you out of it, if you didn't want to do it." She yanks open a notebook, humming as she looks through her stuff for a pen. "Ugh. Why do I keep losing all of my pens?" She pouts down at her notebook, then yelps in surprise when a pen comes flying over her head to land on the desk. "Aww, thanks Boo." She murmurs to Stiles and he cracks up with laughter before he opens his books. 

"So. I gotta say, Allison .. there are a lot of things about you .. that remind me of Scott. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Why no, you haven't, Stiles, considering we've not been friends -that- long. So ... how's Scott doing?" Stiles starts to say something, but the sudden sound of the bell effectively ends all conversation.

* * *

Beacon Hills wins again. Stiles only misses one save, leaving the score 1-9. Derek scores 7, Jackson scores 2. The game ended with Stiles and Derek literally launching themselves into each others arms, until they remember the awkwardness of their last conversation. So, Jackson, Danny, and Allison end up prying Stiles away and pretty much carrying him off in celebration.

* * *

Stiles can't sleep. He's still riding the adrenaline high of another win. The irrefutable proof that it wasn't a fluke. He can -do- this! He can be good at this and now every one is seeing it.

He grins into the distance, staring at his bedroom window for a moment before he turns back toward his computer and boots it up. A glance at his alarm clock shows it to be shortly after midnight and he groans. He really shouldn't be up this late, but whatever. It's the weekend, it's not as if he has to worry about school tomorrow or anything. Besides, it will totally let him decide what he wants to do for Halloween. He's been thinking about his costume for a while now. He wants it to be perfect for the festival but he's just not sure. 

He carefully cracks his knuckles before he boots up youtube and begins his long night of random videos. His current are videos from a channel called Facts, that deals with a varying group of Irish people and how they react to everything from politics, to foods, commercials, and television series from around the world. It's hilarious! 

He gets lost in a Facts about them trying American Pizza, laughing at the comments as he usually does. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of these people. The videos become so engrossing that he has pushed forward in his seat. His arms are crossed on the desk top, in front of his lap top, the volume turned down because he hates being too loud when he's the only one home. His eyes are at half mast, though he's not sleepy in the least. Tired, yeah. Sore and achy, sure, but nowhere near worn down enough that he can actually hope to sleep any time soon.

"S-stiles ...!" Scott's voice wheezes desperately from behind him, prompting Stiles to jerk upward and swivel around in his chair. He watches, wide eyed, as his best friend spills out of his window and onto his floor. It feels as if it's been years since Scott snuck into his room via window and there's some small pit of nostalgic happiness in the core of his gut, but he doesn't have time to stop and think about it. Because this is Scott and Stiles -knows- what that wheeze means. He's yanking his middle drawer out and grabbing Scott's spare rescue inhaler before his he is consciously aware of his actions.

And then he's on the floor, kneeling at Scott's shaking head as he struggles to draw in enough breath to keep himself conscious. Gently, with the infinite care only one who loves you can show, he eases Scott to a sitting position, practically pulling him at an awkward angle against his chest. He leaves one arm looped around Scott's torso, fingers dug in the material of his shirt even as he holds the inhaler up to his best friend's mouth.

"2 .. 1 .. mark!" He pushes the button and Scott inhales like a champ. "2 .. 1 .. mark!" And again. He goes through three doses of his inhaler before he begins to calm in his best friend's hold. Stiles has begun to rock the teen, still cradling him as he usually does when moments like this hit. He can feel the horrid burn of tears stinging the sides of his eyes as he struggles to blink them back because the last thing Scott needs is Stiles breaking down. No, he has to be strong for his best friend, even if they've gotten into another fight.

"God Scott, don't worry me like that again, man." He breathes the words into the shaggy mop of his best friend's hair, placing a kiss against the crown of his head without realizing it. "It's amost 1 in the morning. What are you even doing here?" He sighs the words, suddenly feeling exhausted beyond means. He carefully helps his friend to his feet and leads him to the computer chair so that he can sink into it. Letting the majority of his weight rest against the back of it.

"Sorry. I really am, Stiles. But I know, if I tried to call or text, that you would just ignore me and we really, -really- can't leave things like this. We just .. we keep fighting and I don't even understand it. It's like .. I mean .. now that we're in High School, it feels like you're leaving me behind, Stiles! You're a fucking lacrosse star now, every where I turn at school, someone is talking about how much they want to jump you. Jackson _fucking_ Whittemore is suddenly -really- good friends with you! Like, I heard Greenburg saying something mean about you the other day and Jackson seriously punched him right in the face. Told him that if he -ever- heard Greenburg talk about you like that again, that he would put him in traction .... **-traction-** , Stiles! And then ....... then, there's Derek." His top lip actually raises in a little bit of a near feral snarl when he says the other teen's name. Stiles tries so hard not to wince, turning to plop bonelessly on the foot of his bed. His hands scrub down his cheeks before carefully shoving them up, over the buzz cut of his hair. Maybe he should think about growing that back out? Whatever. Priorities, Stiles.

"So ... it's true, isn't it, Stiles? You're leaving me for Derek. He's your new best friend now!!" Scott sucks in a quivering breath, his shaky hands grabbing at his knees for a moment as he watches his best friend. Stiles slowly looks up, toward the occupant of his computer chair. His hands grasping at the bed sheets next to him as he sighs.

"God, Scott!" Despite knowing what his friend had just been through, he's pissed. Royally. Like, fumingly angry. "Seriously, this is why you came over? Fine. Fine, we're gonna do this! Yeah, I'm good at lacrosse now. And what are you doing? Bitching about it, rather than being happy for me. My best friend is acting like I purposefully tried to get better than him." He somehow manages not to sneer those words. "As for people talking about me .. we've -already- been over that, so don't even start. Jackson ... yeah, he and I are friends now. Same with Danny and Allison. And guess what? If you'd stop acting as if my getting friends has somehow ruined your life, they'd be -your- friends, too, man!" 

And now .. the big one. Derek. God, the name alone had the ability to leave him feeling unnerved and imbalanced in the best way.

"And Derek ..." He sighs the name ever so softly, unable to parse the tone he himself is using, so he's not that surprised when he sees the thunderous, confused look on Scott's face. How the hell is he supposed to make his friend understand the situation when even -he- can't!? 

"Derek is .. complicated, Scotty. Just .. there aren't even words for it, man. But -no.- He is -not- my new best friend or anything else like that, okay?" Now, if that's because him and Scott will -always- be besties, or because he may want something else from Derek, he hasn't the first clue. "You are my best friend, Scott McCall, no matter what's going on with us. Even if we're fighting. Unless I explicitly say we are no longer friends, then we always will be." He is in no way surprised when the asthmatic youth launches off the chair and tackles him back, against his bed, so that he can practically curl around him in a hug.

"I can't lose you, Stiles. You're my brother." They curl up together in a bit of an entwined, awkward, but still comfortable ball, Scott's eyes closed while Stiles stares up at the ceiling.

"You're not going to lose me, Scott .. but you -do- have to make a little room, okay? There are going to be other people in my life. -Our- lives. Jackson and Danny are my friends now, and despite every thing Jackson has done, I really want them to stay my friends." He chews at his bottom lip, feeling it swell against his teeth as he forces blood closer to the surface. "And .. I, uh ... I really, -really- need you to lay off Derek for me, okay?" 

Scott goes utterly still and Stiles is already bracing himself for a tantrum of some sort. The words were too heady, too heavy and strong. Forget the fact that they are true, they reveal too much without saying a damn thing and that is -very- unusual for Stiles. Because he can talk for **-days-** and give **-nothing-** away. 

"But -why-, Stiles? You can't just ... I mean you can't ... you're asking me to just -accept- all of this, and I will try. But I draw the line at Derek. It feels like you've been lying to me about him from the start!" Stiles winces. Pushes his head a little heavier against the bed, his gaze still pitched toward the ceiling. Somehow, this is easier. Not looking at each other means that they aren't forced to read each other. That's too much to handle. 

"God, Scott, do you -really- not trust me -that- much!?" He growls the words, free hand lifting to shove his palm against his eyes. Forcing them to close in case the traitorous tears now burning in them try to fall. He's really tired of crying over this strange thing that is called his life. "Do you not get this, man? Every single time you ask me this, or accuse me more like, you're saying I'm a liar and you don't trust me. So, once more with -feeling-, Scott. I had no fucking -clue- who Derek Hale was until you pointed him out to me! I had not, in fact, ever talked to him or even seen him! Well, I mean, I must have passed him at some point in the halls? But I had no clue who he was. We met because I went to get a book and he was trying to get it for his Uncle. He said some rude shit and then apologized in the parking lot and offered to give me lacrosse lessons to make it up to me. Every thing just sorta .. snowballed from there." He finally manages to take a breath, feeling slightly lightheaded and dizzy after the long winded rant.

The entire time he talked, Scott did not move from the entangled position half wrapped around his best friend. In fact, he seems to cling a little tighter, burying his nose into the side of Stiles' neck as he solemnly listens. Once Stiles has finished speaking, however, he becomes aware of the fact that there are tears splashing ever so gently against his skin. He should feel bad, right? He hadn't wanted to upset his best friend, but this is starting to get to be too much. He can feel it festering, so he doesn't jump at the chance to apologize.

"Oh fuck, Stiles .. I didn't .. I wasn't ... god, of -course- I trust you, Stiles. You are my -brother-, and you -always- will be. I trust you with my life, dude!" He huffs against Stiles breath, inadvertently dragging his lips against his skin as he hunkers a little closer to him. "I'm sorry I kept questioning about Derek, Stiles, I just .. it feels like you're replacing me with him or something." Stiles wants to laugh. So badly. Because there is definitely no way he wants Derek and Scott in the same fashion.

"No, Scott, Derek is definitely -not- replacing you. Because you're my brother, and thus, irreplaceable." He breathes in slow and careful, before he exhales gently. Scott knows, of course, that he's fancied other guys before. Case in point, Danny. Scott hadn't cared in the least when Stiles came out to him as bi. No one in Beacon Hills really seemed to harbor any homophobic feelings, so it was all good. So, he's not really worried about -that-. No, he's just worried that it's -Derek-, and Scott really doesn't seem to like him. "Because you're right, we are brothers .. and I've -never- wanted to kiss you until I pass out from not breathing, dude."

His eyes snap closed tightly and he clamps down on his breath. Because he's scared. The kind of scared that is accompanied by heart palpitations and sweaty palms. Because Scott has gone as still as a statue and that ... does NOT bode well. Though the other teen will never have as much energy as Stiles, Scott still has a tendency never to stop moving. It's always smaller, slightly more contained, but still movements of some kind! So being still -means- something. 

"... Stiles, you know that I have no problem with you being gay, babe." He murmurs the words heart felt, almost fiercely into Stiles' neck. As if he can somehow tattoo that acceptance permanently upon his flesh. It causes Stiles to shiver and bite back a whimper. "Even ... even if you end up with -him-." Stiles begins to think he may have entered into a parallel universe. "I will probably never really like him, Stiles. He will always be the guy that tried to take you away, in my mind, but I won't cause any problems with him, okay? I'll be civil." And this is yet another example of why Stiles will always love his brother.

"Scotty .." He whispers softly, leaning over to brush a kiss to his temple as they curl into each other.

"Stiles." Scott whispers back, all beaming smile and happiness now that they are good again. Are they going to fight again? Of course. They're teenage boys. But they will always be able to repair it. That's what matters.

"So, did I tell you that I talked to Allison?" The words tumble out before Stiles can engage his filter, and Scott snorts next to him.

"That's the other thing I think I might be jealous of, Stiles. You're bromance with Allison." There's a bit of a wistful note in Scott's voice that hits Stiles right in the feels, causing him to wince a little. "You -would- end up with a girl like that taking an interest when all you can think about is an asshat like Hale." There is a soft edge of petulance entering his tone, but Stiles forgives it ... for now.

"Dude, not even! That girl may have a part of my heart, may even be so much fun to flirt with, but it is totally platonic on -both- of our parts." He squeezes his friend gently, feeling Scott reposition himself until his ear is pressed comfortably against Stiles' heart. "Uhm .. in fact ... she asked about you, and I think ... dude, I -totally- think you should go for it!" He can feel his excitement building, the thought of Scott and Allison finding happiness making him feel all gooey and mushy inside. It would be perfect, and they both deserve it!

"I .. Stiles .. she'd never .. I'm --" Stiles reaches his hand around to carefully press his palm against Scott's mouth, scowling at him.

"Imma stop you right -there-, Scotty. Because if any more bullshit comes spilling out, we might have to start fighting again, and I just really don't have the energy for that, buddy." He tilts his head down, pressing the edge of his nose to Scott's hairline before he lays his head back down with a sigh. "You are the greatest person I've ever met, Scott McCall. Allison would be fucking -lucky- to have you, so don't even start. Monday, you are going to ask her to the Halloween Festival, though do -not- offer to dress to match because I might have to murder you. Painfully." He chuckles at the thought, though it quickly dissolves into a grin when he feels Scott relaxing against him. So, he carefully pries his hand off his mouth, and Scott is beaming up at him like he's the greatest thing to ever be born and it makes him feel all swoopy and swirly inside.

"Thanks, Stiles .. you're the best, Boo." Scott giggles as he uses the joke, before he lets his eyes flutter closed. "I will ask her out Monday, I promise. Night, buddy." A large, sleepy yawn shakes Scott a little before he's practically passing out in Stiles' arms.

* * *

By the time Monday rolls around, Stiles is feeling better. Not great, not super, but -better-, and that is all that matters. Because he and Scott are doing okay, he spent the entire weekend trading lame ass, funny insults with Jackson via texts, Danny had even called twice to find out what costume Stiles had settled on for the Festival, and Allison and him had gone shopping together. All in all, it's been wicked! 

In the old days, he would be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He would be expecting every thing to turn to rot and drag him down with it, but those feelings are gone. No, he's content for the first time since his Mom passed and it's really great. He feels as if he's walking on cloud nine as he heads to his locker. And it is a testament to how much things have changed, that he's not at all surprised to see Jackson leaning up against the locker next to his, waiting on him.

"Stiles." He calls out with a hint of friendliness that can change at the drop of a pin. They still fight on occasion, but it's more like the goodnatured ribbing friends give than the old knock down, drag out verbal war they had going for most of their childhood. It is officially no longer a mystery why Jackson and Danny have been friends their entire life, because in the end, Jackson is -just- like Stiles. Fiercely protective of those he considers his, with little thought to those that aren't. Though Stiles does have a bit more compassion than that, given that he's the Sheriff's son and all.

"Hey, Jack-Jack, what's up?" He beams at his friend as he puts his combination in and yanks his locker open.

"I need your help." Okay, back that friend train right on up! Getting along is one thing, but **_JACKSON WHITTEMORE_** asking for help is basically Twilight Zone material.

"Well Jack-Jack, my first bit of advise is that all of the symptoms point to Pod Person. Sorry, buddy, but the only cure is your untimely death." There is no scoff, no offended look, nothing like that. No, Jackson just rolls his eyes with this little smirk that even Stiles has to admit is sexy as hell. 

"For the sake of expedience, and so that you don't go off on a tangent to explain, yes, I get the reference, and no, I'm not a freaking Pod Person, Stilinski. I really do need help, man." And okay, there may be a teeny tiny bit of a whine in those words that totally melts Stiles' heart and leaves him sighing ever so softly. When he realizes that he's about two seconds from grabbing Jackson and clutching him to his bosom as if he were his child or something, he allows a moment of mortification before he lets it go. He's comfortable with the nurturing side of him. He's been that way his entire life.

"Alright, buddy. I'm here for you. What's up?" He finishes loading his backpack with the books he needs, and is surprised when Jackson grabs the pack and slings it over his own shoulder instead. Once the locker is locked, they turn and head for Stiles' first period.

"It's Halloween, man. The few times I have deigned to dress up, it was always Lydia giving me exactly what to wear, and telling me not to make her look stupid. Seeing as there is no Lydia this year .. I don't have the first clue, Stilinski." Oh wow, so this day just got ten times better! Because this is Fate handing him a happy birthday/merry christmas all in one! He practically lights up, reaching out to grab Jackson's arm and haul him into the classroom.

"Oh my GOD, Jackson! Here I was, thinking it was going to be something tricky or dangerous or something. Dude, I totally got this!" He is actually bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leads Jackson to one of the desks and plops into it. Without hesitation, Jackson settles in front of him, turned around to face him. He is open and even -eager- to follow Stiles' advice and this is just so surreal and AWESOME. "So! It's pretty simple, really. Half the group is already going as Avengers, so you will, too. Me and Allison got our costumes this weekend, and Danny texted me -twice- to tell me who he's going as." Stiles smirks faintly at that, he just can't help himself. Because when Danny said that he was going as Captain America, he -might- have popped a bit of a nerd boner at how freakin' -perfect- that was! Because come ON, with those muscles, dimples, and all around good-guy mentality, how could he be anyone -but- Captain America!? He giggles slightly at the memory, before he shakes his head to clear it.

"Who's going as who?"

"Well, Allison is going as Hawkeye, instead of Black Widow, because we do -not- subscribe to gender normative bullshit." He speaks these words matter-of-factly and in the old days, Jackson would've made some kind of harsh remark or tasteless joke, but not now. Instead, he just nods, because he totally gets that. The fact that Stiles has always felt that way is something that Jackson actually admired about him. "So yeah, she's going as Hawkeye, I'm going as Spiderman, and Danny ... well, his costume just gives me the -perfect- idea for what you should go as." He bounces lightly in his seat, grinning like a mad imp and it is infectious because Jackson is grinning back at him almost instantly. "Danny is going as Captain America because there is no one as perfect for that big pile of man muscle, dimples, and principals." Jackson snorts, but doesn't say anything. "So, you are going as Iron Man. The douchebag millionaire that does every thing in his power to push his friends away, while secretly hoping they never go anywhere. There's also the fact that Captain and Iron Man are somehow really good friends despite being complete polar opposites. So! You can get a really nice iron man costume, and leave the helmet off. We can even temporarily dye your hair darker brown to match. It'll be great!" 

Jackson cracks up at the thought of Stiles as Spiderman, because he cannot get a single image out of his mind!

"Oh god, -tell- me McCall is going as Mary Jane, because that will make my -year-!" Stiles blinks in confusion, wondering what joke he is missing here, because he is definitely missing something.

"Ew. Just .. just -ew-, Jackson. That is all kinds of just -wrong-. But no, he's not, though I have no clue what he -is- going as." While Stiles begins to look thoughtful, Jackson just looks confused. Like, -really- confused. 

"Wait .. weren't you just going on about gender normative, Stiles? Don't tell me you're a hypocrite, dude. Scott could totally rock the masculine MJ look." Stiles blinks again, sinking back in his seat, trying to process what the hell is going on here.

"Why yes, Scott could easily rock the male MJ, but that would be gross because it's -Scott- and the thought of him as Spiderman's counterpart is just squik, dude. Like, major squik and just -all- of the NO." Now Jackson looks so far beyond confused that Stiles is starting to get jittery. Because he is -obviously- missing something major here and the thing that has always bugged him the most, is a lack of information and understanding. He cannot stand the thought that something is going over his head. It creates an almost physical itch under his skin.

"I --" The sound of two cellphones receiving text messages cut them off. They both reach for their phones, both grinning dopily. Stiles from getting a text from Allison, Jackson from getting a text from Danny. They both lapse into silence as they reply, letting themselves be occupied with their phones until it's time to get ready for class.

* * *

By the time lunch rolls around, Stiles is all but dancing in the hallways. Okay, he -is- dancing. There were a few jig steps here and there, though the moment he remembered they were in public, it had stopped. He's pretty sure no amount of lacrosse skill would save him from utter humiliation if he did something stupid. He's not pretty enough for the student body to forgive him something like that.

He's just headed for the doors leading outside when he passes a darkened classroom. He jerks back, places his hands against the little rectangle glass window and peers inside. Then nearly swallows his own tongue!

Scott is pushed up against the classroom wall, ringed in by furious looking Allison, Danny, and Jackson. What the what!? Why are his friends ganging up on his poor Scotty!? He yanks the door open, practically seeing red because he can feel how sad, confused, and unhappy his friend is from all the way over here.

"God, Scott, I can't even! How could you -do- this to him??" Allison is softly sniffling her words, punctuating them with trembled jabs of her pointer finger in Scott's direction.

"Stiles is a good guy, Scott! Even -I- wouldn't pull this level of douchebaggery on him before we became friends!" Jackson is practically growling at Scott, looking as if he's only a few seconds from attacking the guy.

"Some of us would do a hell of a lot for someone as good as Stiles, Scott. I used to look up to you so much, man, how could you -do- this to him? And just over some pretty face?? No offense, Allison." 

"Oh, sweetie, none taken. Because I wholeheartedly agree. Stiles is sweet and loyal and funny and worth so much more than this kind of backstabbing, Scott! How could you? I mean .. there aren't even -words- for a betrayal like this!"

"What the -hell- do you all think you're doing?!" Stiles is across the room before he can stop himself. He takes up a position between the other three and Scott, one arm braced protectively back, against his friend. "Back the hell off and tell me what on earth is going on!" 

"Stiles! Oh no, sweetie, you don't need to be here, okay?" Allison practically coos the concerned words, and did he actually manage to walk into a parallel universe of weird or something??

"Stiles!" Danny gasps out, beginning to slowly edge toward him. "It's okay, man, we'll get this all worked out. I'm -sure- he didn't mean it, okay??" The poor teen sounds so utterly anxious, almost desperate for his words to be true.

"Speak for yourself, Danny. I don't trust McCall ... I'm pretty damn sure he -did- mean it." Jackson sneers in Scott's direction in just enough time for Danny to lay a hand on Stiles' arm, and he is officially through with this.

"What. Is. GOING. ON!?!" He roars the words and Scott's hand jerks out to grab a fistful of his shirt at the same moment that Danny, Allison, and Jackson take a step back from Stiles and huddle together.

"Scott asked me out!" Allison blurts the words out with all the tone of an apology and Stiles is pretty sure he's never been this confused in all of his life, and that is including the Pre-Adderall days. 

"...and??" He prompts, waiting for the moment when this will make sense! Three shocked sets of eyes meet his for a split second, and then he's been pulled into three strong pairs of arms.

"Oh god, Stiles, I'm so sorry! I didn't even know you two had broken up!" Allison practically sobs the words into his shoulder, and what the actual fuck?

"I always knew you were too good for that fucking -potato-, Stiles!" Jackson growls the words against Stiles' throat and it should not be as much of a turn on as it is! 

"It'll be okay, Stiles. We'll help get you through it, okay??" Danny coos the words, his hand patting at Stiles' side as he curls in to him. Is it sad that this is the most action he's ever gotten, and it seems to be some misplaced sense of sympathy!?

"God ... oh my god ... oh my all of the gods in every religion, you -all- have it wrong!" He's squeaking the words, a muscle under his eye jumping as he struggles to keep from going into bloody hysterics. He carefully pries himself out of their arms and turns to hug Scott, who is shaking and looks close to having an asthma attack. It's only after he's let his best friend go that he realizes the action probably isn't going to help his case. "Guys, please tell me that you don't think me and Scott were dating, and that he dumped me to try and date Allison?" At the look of confusion and slow, sheepish nods from the other three, Stiles cannot help the half hysterical laugh that bubbles up from him. 

"Hey! I would -never- dump Stiles!" Scott actually sounds petulant and butt hurt at the thought that he would do his best friend that way, and Stiles really does just LOVE him.

"Not helping, Scott!" He actually whines the words before he takes a step away from his best friend. "Okay, so. Me and Scott have never, nor -will- we ever, date. We have no sexual or romantic interest in one another. I'm bisexual, but Scott is completely straight. Even toward me, guys. In truth, -I'm- the one that suggested he ask Allison out, specifically for the festival. Trust me, bro, you and Scott will be so good together." Allison's eyes widen, her cheeks filling with heat as she flushes.

"I .. well, I mean ... I like him ... I just thought .. you're sure you don't mind?" She peeks up from under her eyelashes, looking between Scott and Stiles.

"Hey, I more than don't mind! If you turn my brother down again, Imma take it as a personal insult!" He grins nice and large, and Scott cautiously slides around Stiles so that he's standing in front of Allison.

"... will you go to the Halloween Festival with me, Allison?" He squeaks, and rather than look mortified, Allison giggles and reaches down to tentatively take hold of Scott's hand. Making him light up with happiness.

"Of course, Scott." 

"Sweet! Now, what are you going as, Scott? I already know what everyone else is going as .. well, except Derek." He tries so hard to fight it, but he manages to grimace when he says Derek's name, which is an action lost on -no one- gathered.

"Oh! Uhm, I was looking at everything and, like, I thought about you and decided that gender normative totally didn't matter, so I'm going as a male Black Widow!" Scott looks so unbelievably proud of himself, but Stiles still laughs at him. Goodnaturedly.

"Damn it, Scott! My -one- rule was that you and Allison couldn't match costumes! She's going as a female Hawkeye. God, you two are already sickeningly perfect!" He hrumphs and pouts as everyone else laughs, the tension from earlier immediately cut and discarded. "Anyway, now that this is settled, I need food. Later, babes!" He flutters his lashes playfully at all of them, before he turns and exits the classroom. The moment he is gone, everyone seems to sort of swing toward each other, eyes wide and speculative, talking over each other.

"Dude, he wants Hale!?" Jackson.

"Oh wow, Stiles and Derek would be SO good together!" Allison.

"Huh. Guess I missed, like, -all- of my chances." Danny. 

"You're all going to help me, right? Because Stiles needs to be hooked up with Derek ASAFP!" Scott, obviously.

"Of course, we got this." Allison beams at Scott while the four of them lean closer together, beginning to plot.

* * *

They totally -don't- got this. Their lack of a proper plan is proof positive that Stiles is the smartest of the group, and should always be in charge of planning.

* * *

Stiles might be freaking out a little bit ... okay a -lot-, but whatever. He is about to head to a Halloween Festival that had morphed into a freaky, terrifying thing since he found out that the entire school apparently thinks that he's dating his best friend. Who he has -never- had a truly romantic thought about!

Add to that the fact that he feels raw and torn apart over the fact that Derek isn't really talking to him right now, and he is gutted and nervous. Did Derek bail because he thinks Stiles and Scott are dating? Did he finally decide that he's too old, hot, and popular to give Stiles the time of day?? Was Scott -way- off base and Stiles really is just too fucking annoying to have anyone!?

"Damn it!" He hisses at his reflection, yanking his mask off and tossing it onto the sink counter. "I'm not even -in- the booth anymore. It would be acceptable for me to bow out, right? I mean, this will be okay. Yes. Yes it will." He glares down at the offending garment, growling in frustration before he reaches up to scrub his hand across his shorn hair. 

"Okay. This will be okay. It's just Halloween ... god, I look so lame!" He grabs up his cellphone, and carefully angles it at the mirror. He snaps a picture of himself and then shoots a text off to Jackson.

_' Do I look totally lame? I look totally lame! Yes, yes I do! In fact, I look -so- lame that I am not going tonight! Whew! Now that my mind is made up, I feel so much lighter! Good talk. '_

He exhales softly and grabs the mask and heads toward his bedroom. He yanks his door open and nearly jumps in surprise when he sees DANNY sitting on his bed, dressed as Captain America. Oh god, his libido did -not- need to see Danny looking like a nerd's wet dream! He's had enough problems with inappropriate boners where the hot Hawaiian was concerned. 

He jumps a second time when his phone goes off, quickly pulling the received text up.

_' If you think I'm letting you skip out on this, you are sadly mistaken, Stilinski. I will say this once and only once; you are hot as hell. Spiderman suits you so much that it's almost painful. Now, put your mask on, stop freaking out at Danny in your bedroom, and get your ass downstairs! We're here to pick you both up! '_

He barely has time to finish the text before he hears Jackson honking his horn.

"Wow, Stiles. You look ... just yeah. Lets get this over with." Danny stands up almost awkwardly, straightening his mask before he carefully moves past him and heads down the stairs. Stiles waits for a few seconds, curses under his breath, and then yanks the mask on and jogs down after him.

"Looking good, Stilinski!" The chorus of praise from Jackson, Allison, and Scott of all people, causes him to blush deeply. Thank god none of them can see his cheeks.

"Oh, wow. We are the hottest Avengers EVER!" Stiles squeaks and none of them are surprised when they all fall into a natural pose position so that they can get a good group selfie showing off their superhero status for the evening. Well, that's not -entirely- true. Every one is surprised that Jackson willingly poses. Even Jackson himself. Once the pictures are taken and statuses updated, they pile into Jackson's car and take off toward the festival. At this point, no one is surprised that Stiles ends up in the front.

* * *

"Hale! Get your ass in the booth, now! I'll send Danny over as soon as he gets here!" Derek rolls his eyes and reaches up, wanting to run his hand through his hair, but he immediately winces and drops it. Because his hair is gelled back. The scent of it is driving him crazy .. all synthetic chemicals and oils and he feels as if he's going to sneeze, like, all the time! However, he keeps telling himself it's worth it. Because at some point, Stiles sent him a text about how cool Superman was. So of course, for the Halloween Festival, he has dressed up as Superman.

Can you even -imagine- the snarky bullshit he had had to endure from his family? The amount of jokes about the amount of red he's wearing? The -only- way he would've been made fun of even more, would be if he had gone as Little Red Riding Hood. Because, you know, there's only so much hypocrisy werewolves can handle. He glances down at the large red S tight across his chest and he nearly rolls his eyes.

Why the fuck is he trying -so hard- to impress a guy that has a damn boyfriend? A boyfriend he may as well have been dating since they were toddlers?? He growls angrily, forcing himself to head into the booth and settle on the little wooden stool there. His claws are itching at his fingers, his teeth are aching at his gums, and he looks down quickly in hopes that his eyes haven't managed to glow beta yellow. Again. 

He glances up in enough time to feel his heart start to hammer. Because this .. this just got -way- real. Because it's gone so far beyond him just trying to impress Stiles. Because he's about to torture his poor wolf for the sake of the other teen. Like, legit torture. Sure, with the gel taking up so much of his sense of scent, he doesn't have to worry too much about the wolf growing agitated by that. But, there's the sense of hearing and taste to go on. It's that last one that is going to ruin him. Tasting all of these people on his lips when all is said and done .. it's going to be hell. 

He glances up again, and sees that the first person has stepped into line. He's wearing the tightest, most flattering Spiderman costume Derek has ever seen. He feels his stomach swoop a little as the guy steps up and manages to pull out the five dollar bill to pay for a kiss. Derek licks his lips without meaning to, wants to tell the guy that they aren't actually open yet, since Danny hasn't even gotten here. But something on an instinctive level stops him. 

The guy rolls up his mask until it catches gently on his nose, leaving his mouth exposed. The boy's lips are shiny and slightly bit-swollen and Derek wants to moan for what they remind him of. It reminds him of Stiles, when he gets to biting at his lips and then talks a mile a minute. God, is -every thing- going to remind him of Stiles right now!? He officially hates Halloween. 

"Isn't, uh ... isn't there some kind of cosmic rule about Marvel and DC crossing?" The words are out before he can stop them, and Spiderman actually throws his head back and laughs. It's a deep, full body laugh that makes Derek's heart skip a beat. Before he can think about that fact, his nostrils flare and he wants to curse the damn hair gel again.

"Worth it." Spiderman's voice is rich and smooth and Derek kinda wants to roll around in it. Which should probably have been, like, his fourth or fifth clue who exactly is standing in front of him, but his senses are going haywire! Spiderman tips forward, places one hand flat on the rough wood of the booth counter, fingers splayed over the five dollar bill. His other hand lifts, gloved fingers cupping Derek's jaw. "Totally wanted to be your first, Supes." The words are practically purred and Derek's stomach drops out. His palms are sweaty, his breath is coming a little shorter, because there is only one person that can make something so stupid seem so very profound; Stiles. 

Before he can say anything, try to be witty or just beg to know if he's got this right, if it's STILES under that mask, he feels the barest hint of pressure on his cheek, causing him to instinctively lean forward. Their lips slot together instantly, perfectly, and Derek might want to cry. A little bit. Because even though it is chaste, it is perfect and every thing Derek had daydreamed that kissing Stiles would be like since the first time he noticed him this summer. When Stiles had been blowing bubbles right into Scott's face, the other teen spluttering, laughing, and smacking them away as he hollered happily at his best friend. 

He whimpers softly, whines subtly as their lips press silken and warm together. 

".. wow." Spiderman rocks back on his heels and immediately pulls his mask back down and tucks it into his costume. He really does look sinfully delicious in the tight, bright red suit. God, they would probably look obscenely good together, though he's trying really hard not to over think this. Just in case he's wrong. He once again curses the lack of senses, because he wants nothing more than to be able to -smell- if it's him. 

When he finally manages to pull himself together fully, Spiderman is starting to walk away, and Derek's brain is SCREAMING at him to -move-, damn it! His hand shoots out, grabbing Spiderman by the arm. A quick glance down shows that his claws aren't out and he's thankful for that. 

"So .. do I .. get to know your secret identity?" His voice is lower, more rough gravel and velvet than it usually is. Even with the gel messing with him, he gets a whiff of something spicy and wanton off of Spiderman and he wants to moan. Again, just wants to roll around in that scent! It has to be Stiles ...... HAS TO. He's never felt this overwhelmed by anyone else. 

"Come on, Kent .. I'm sure you can figure it out." Even with the mask obscuring Spiderman's mouth, he knows that he's smiling and it leaves Derek breathless. "Come find me .. after your shift ends. If you can guess my identity .. I'll kiss you again." And just like that, Derek is left open-mouthed and knocked for a loop, his hand sliding away. He watches Spiderman practically run from the scene, his heart hammering as overwhelmingly as Derek's is.

"Count on it, Parker." He smirks vaguely before he forces his attention back to the moment at hand. He whines softly when he realizes that there are already dozen of girls and guys lined up at his section. This is going to be a long hour.

* * *

Poor Derek. He's lost count of the amount of people he's managed to kiss. Reluctantly. Pretty much against his and his wolf's will, really. After that first kiss, that may or may not be Stiles, every thing else has been a disappointing invasion of privacy that is starting to do him in. He continuously has to remind himself that he's doing this for Stiles ... that he's here, letting all of these strangers put their disgusting, chapped, overly wet, gross tasting lips on his because it kept Stiles from getting kissed instead. (And yes, okay, he will internally admit that he is partially doing this just because he cannot stand the thought of that many people getting to kiss Stiles if -he- can't. The thought of all of those people anywhere near Stiles has his wolf howling internally, forcing him to remind it that Stiles isn't going to have to do this. It appeases the beast a little bit.)

Unfortunately, with how off balance he's been, he hasn't really been able to keep track of time or anything else. 

"Hale!" The sudden sound of his name causes him to nearly fall right off the back of his stool, though he manages to catch himself and turn to face none other than Jackson Whittemore. Who's Iron Man, of course. He has a feeling he knows what theme the little band of friends has chosen, and it sends butterflies swooping and twirling through his stomach because it adds a little more hope to his theory that Spiderman is Stiles. "Go on, man, time for us to switch out. Count your cash and then head out." Jackson grins at him, and it's not his usual sneer or smirk. It's a genuine, light smile, and Derek could not be more impressed. It seems his dumping Lydia and befriending Stiles and Scott has mellowed him out a hell of a lot. Proving that Stiles really is some kind of miracle worker. 

He grabs the cash box and carefully shoves the money into the bank bag before he moves over to the very edge of the booth and begins to count the cash.

"Is it almost time for your shift?" Scott's voice grabs hold of Derek's hearing, instantly taking over. And leaving him hella confused. Because Scott sounds a little upset, on edge, and what the hell, man? DEREK made damn sure Stiles -didn't- have any shifts, so why is Scott sounding upset? And who the hell is he talking to?!

"Yeah. I probably should've headed over already. I'm sure Danny is ready to get out of there." W-what ..? He sucks in a breath, hands wrapping tightly around the bank bag. 

"God, I hate that you're doing this." Scott is whining and Derek aches to punch him right in his uneven jaw. Because it sounds like .... fuck, it sounds like Scott is -cheating- on Stiles with Allison and that leaves him struggling not to shift and hunt the little prick down.

"I know, sweetie, and I'm sorry. It's just .. well, I agreed before we got together. Before I knew we could be together." Scott huffs and Derek can hear the soft, wet slide of lips together and he feels like he's going to be sick. After everything that has happened ... after all of his agonizing over wanting Stiles while Stiles is with that asshole, and he's -cheating- on him!? 

"I know, I know. It just .. it sucks, knowing you're going to kiss all of these people." Another wet, disgusting sound of lips and Derek can't even breathe anymore. Why the fucks is this happening? How the hell could Scott cheat on someone like STILES with some new girl he barely even knows!? Home-wrecking tramp! He snarls softly under his breath.

"I know, but it'll be okay. I should head over .. and you should head back before Stiles realizes you're gone. I'll see you later, okay?" Oh god. So he is actually, full on cheating! There's no chance that he dumped Stiles or anything, this is a clandestine thing that is going to rip Stiles heart out .. and then Derek is going to have to rip Scott to pieces.

"Dead potato .." He growls to himself, jumping to his feet and storming toward Coach. "Here." He snarls as he shoves the bag into the adult's hand before he turn and takes off at a run. He finds himself silently stalking Scott, knowing that he will lead him to Stiles.

* * *

Okay, so he's panicking. A LOT. He kissed Derek Hale. Fuck, he KISSED DEREK HALE!! He can feel the first short breath stumble out, and he wants to whine and punch the ground. He should not be freaking out this much. After all of the sweet, wonderful things Derek had said, and the way that he had kissed him back, he should -not- be freaking out this much. But he is. How can he not be? This could ruin everything. 

After Derek's near radio silence, this could be the final nail in the coffin of their friendship. So yeah, he -may- be freaking out a little (majorly). 

"Stiles!" Scott calls out happily, and Stiles spins around immediately to see his best friend barreling toward him. However, the moment that he doesn't call back, Scott's happiness turns to worry and he nearly tackles him to the ground in his need to make sure that he's okay. "What's wrong? You're starting to panic! Talk to me, Boo!" Stiles manages a wheezing laugh when Scott falls back onto his usual technique. Before he can say anything, Scott has reached up and grabbed his mask, yanking it off. Almost immediately, sweet, fresh air comes rushing into his lungs and he clings to his friend.

"Ferris Bueller, you're my hero!" Scott barks out a laugh at those words, shaking his head and leaning forward to gently butt his forehead against his best friend's. "S-sorry .. just, uh .. just freaking out a little bit, that's all. I did something really stupid without thinking it through and now I'm having a mini nuclear freak out." He wheezes again, reaching up to rub at his exposed cheeks which are flushed red, making the rest of his face look even paler than usual.

"I --"

"You unmitigated ASSHOLE!" Derek Hale's voice is biting and pissed. It's somewhere between a roar, growl, and snarl of rage that makes Stiles' heart beat double time. (He would never admit to himself that it is half fear and half arousal.) Scott leaps and whirls around, instinctively putting himself between Stiles and Derek.

"What the hell, Hale??" Scott demands, frowning as he tries to figure out what is going on. Stiles sees the movement before Scott does. Sees Derek lifting his hand to take a swing and there's no way in hell he can let that happen. He leaps around Scott, shoving Derek's arm so that the blow never lands.

"What the fuck, Derek!?" Stiles growls and shoves again, sending Derek reeling backward in surprise. Stiles wonders if he's ever had someone fight back against him before. The other teen sucks in a breath, eyes narrowed angrily as he glares between Stiles and Scott.

"This bastard is cheating on you, Stiles! Him and Allison --" Derek is seething. His chest is rising and falling rapidly and Stiles is momentarily distracted by just how tight his bright red and blue costume is and he maybe forgets, for a split second, that the assbutt had just tried to hurt his brother.

"I am NOT cheating on Stiles!" Scott roars, causing the other two teens to jump in surprise. As if both had somehow forgotten that the one the punch was intended for, was still standing there. "What the hell is -wrong- with all of you!? If me and Stiles were dating, I would never cheat on him or dump him for someone else! He's too fucking awesome for that!" And again .. this is one of the reasons he loves his brother so damn much. Because Scott was nearly punched, but is still indignant on Stiles' behalf. 

"Oh please, McCall! Every one knows you two are dating! Stiles screams out how much he loves you in the fucking hallways, and you are constantly reassuring him that you love him too. You two are always hugged up on each other. I even heard a group of shrill girls talking about you -holding- him during class!" Derek sounds so bitter and torn up, that Stiles is flooded with so many conflicting emotions and desires. He wants to do half a dozen things, but he has no clue what to do first. 

"I .. what .. how ... just no!" Scott is fuming now, a few moments from out and out stomping his foot on the ground to telegraph his displeasure. Stiles, on the other hand, has finally managed to make himself move. He walks right up into Derek's personal space, putting them foot to foot and nearly nose to nose, though Derek is a few inches taller than him. 

"Derek ..." He whispers the name, watching as the older boy's eyes snap to him and narrow. "Listen to me very carefully, okay? Scott and I have never dated. We have never been together. He is straight and we have zero romantic interest in one another. I am the one that -told- him to go out with Allison. He is in no way cheating on me." He makes sure every word is strong and easily heard. He watches as Derek's intense gaze slowly widens more and more. Until they are wide, shining, and full of so much hope that Stiles feels lightheaded with it. 

"You .. you're not lying." Derek's voice is full of wonder and awe, and Stiles should probably ask why the other teen is so sure that he's telling the truth, but he doesn't really care right now. Because he's ecstatic that he is being believed rather than the misunderstanding continuing. "You and Scott .. you really aren't together?" 

"We really, -really- aren't, man." Stiles is smiling now, bright and hopeful and Derek looks utterly stunned by it. They remain staring at each other for a few more moments before they launch at one another. Stiles shoves one hand against Derek's side, the other cupping his cheek. One of Derek's hands slides down onto the small of his back, the other gripping Stiles at the nape of the neck to guide their lips together desperately.

The kiss is far more eager and feral than the one at the kissing booth had been. Their lips still slot together easily, but there's swiping tongues, hot breath, needy whimpers. 

"Dating." Derek growls, voice deep and dark. "Something we should do." 

"Definitely. Dating is good. We will have -all- of the dates, Hale." Stiles is practically panting for breath, still pressing desperate, wanton kisses to Derek's lips. 

"Yes. Yes we will. Starting Friday, after the game. All of the dates, Stilinski. You're -mine- now." The word mine causes Stiles to shiver deliciously, his hands tightening on Derek's body.

"Totally yours, Derek." The two of them dissolve into sloppy, happy kisses, tuning the rest of the world out.

* * *

**Fin**

**Author's Note:**

> This was sooo much fun to write! I hope that every one enjoyed it!
> 
> So .. Halloween costumes .... I saw this picture, a manip of Stiles as Spiderman and Derek as Superman, and it basically ruined me. So, when it came to picking costumes, I had to go with that. (I actually have no idea who did the manip, but it's awesome!)
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


End file.
